by Andy McNab
Liam registered immediately where the incoming rounds were coming from and directed his fire team accordingly. Clint unleashed a hellish rate of fire with the LMG.
‘Sunter?’ Liam ordered over the PRR.
‘Yes, boss?’
‘Muzzle flashes at two hundred. Grenades! Now!’
Ade’s SA80 was fitted with the UGL. And on Liam’s order he dropped in three grenades with pinpoint accuracy.
‘Scott!’ Cowell’s voice came in over the radio. ‘We need to get the fuck out, now! Is that IED clear?’
Liam looked up, saw Zaman, who gave him a thumbs up. James was with him. ‘Yes.’
‘Then move out! Go!’
Liam made ready to give the order, but at that moment two successive explosions went off at close range. Not close enough to kill, but close enough to kick dirt and grit over everyone around him and fill the air with thick dust.
Liam blinked the stuff away, his eyes stinging. Standing up he grabbed Ade by the shoulder. ‘We’re moving! Now!’ He called over to Clint, ‘Keep their heads down for a few seconds, then get the fuck out!’
‘I’m on your heels, mate!’ Clint called back.
Liam raced ahead, looking for cover. And not just a bush either, but something that had a chance at stopping a round coming in, like an old log or a mound of dirt, anything. Trouble was, he was trying to find something while on the move, whereas whoever was shooting at them had been there long enough to make sure they were well hidden. Another explosion, closer this time, and he jumped sideways, rolled along the ground, and was up again on his knees. Then, a few metres ahead, through the dust and smoke, he saw a shadow. At first he thought it was one of the lads, but the silhouette was wrong: no kit, no weapon, and definitely not in combat kit. Whoever it was, they were on the ground messing with something. Not actually by the track either, but at its side and down a shallow gully.
Liam crept forward, ignoring the pain in his knees and elbows as grit and stone dug in. As yet, he couldn’t see clearly enough to either identify the threat, or fire. He had to be sure.
Crawling further, and still unnoticed, the sound of the battle around him disguising his own movement, he was now only metres away, the dust in the air still doing its best to hide him from view. Then a faint gust of wind caught the grubby air, twisted it into swirls, and it cleared.
For the briefest of moments, the man glared at Liam with undisguised hatred. Liam stared back hard and cold. There was something familiar about the figure, something he recognized, but he couldn’t place it. Kneeling on the ground, he was wearing the usual Afghani dress of dark baggy clothing, over which was a battered combat jacket. His face was half hidden with beard and the shadow from the cloth hat on his head, and his hands were still, frozen in the task of attaching wires to a small pack covered in plastic. Liam knew in an instant: the man was Taliban, and he was connecting a battery to an already long-buried IED, just like Zaman had described.
Liam already had his weapon in the shoulder and saw that the figure was unarmed. It was all the hesitation his enemy needed.
With a raging bellow, the man leaped at Liam. Caught off guard, Liam struggled to stay balanced, rolling as the man grabbed his weapon. Liam didn’t let go, brought a boot up into the man’s stomach and hammered hard, then again. It made no difference. Liam had heard that some of the Taliban got high on drugs before heading off to fight. It was just his luck to find himself up against one such fighter, he reckoned.
He rolled again, kicked his assailant where it hurt the most, sending him spinning. But the force of it hooked his rifle out of his hands. The man was on his feet, didn’t give Liam time to breathe. Liam dodged, got to his own feet, tried to remember some of what Clint had shown him, went for his sidearm, but the man was into him too quick. And he wasn’t coming in with fists, but rocks.
Liam blocked the hits, but he was caught and knocked to the ground. Dazed, he managed to dodge another attack. Then finally, as the Taliban fighter yelled out and came in for more, Liam managed to draw his sidearm and fire.
The first shot did nothing. The second slowed him. The third and fourth dropped him to his knees. The fifth hit him in his right cheek, collapsing the side of his face, then took off the back of his skull.
Liam was exhausted and holstered his pistol. He’d used it in anger before, and it was different to letting rip with an SA80. With an assault rifle, the target was usually at a distance. With a pistol, the fight was close, you saw the person you were aiming to kill eye-to-eye. But now wasn’t the time for quiet reflection. That would come later, if at all. Grabbing his rifle, Liam went back to his fire team.
‘Where did you go?’ asked Clint, who had moved position, but was again laying down suppressing fire. Tim was there as well, returning fire efficiently, but almost as though he was alone, thought Liam, like the rest of the patrol didn’t exist.
‘Found someone connecting an IED,’ said Liam, breathing hard.
‘Put up a fight, did he?’
Liam nodded. ‘Fucking understatement. He was wired on something himself, I’m sure of it. Took five shots to drop the bastard.’
Cowell called over the PRR. ‘They’re backing off,’ he said. ‘No more waiting around. Let’s shift it!’
The patrol moved then, as though they were all running to a pre-programmed set of orders. Executing perfect fire and manoeuvre drill, they were soon back at the patrol base, albeit on their chin straps and close to puking with exhaustion.
‘Here.’
Liam looked up and saw fresh water. It was Miller, who’d come to meet them as they arrived. Liam sipped carefully, so as to avoid the stuff hitting his stomach and coming straight back out again.
‘Thanks,’ he said, handing the bottle back. The rest of the lads were grabbing a drink now too. Tim, though, had for whatever reason moved away from the others. He had issues, Liam thought, but so long as he got on with the job, then he wasn’t too bothered. It didn’t help though if someone saw themselves as different to the rest, an outsider.
Miller spoke. ‘You all look fucked,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
Liam explained, and as he did so, realized something. ‘The bloke I shot? He was from the village we visited weeks back.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive,’ said Liam. ‘Came with an old guy with a bad leg. I thought he was a shifty bastard when we met him. Turns out I was right.’
Steers came over. ‘This doesn’t sound random,’ he said. ‘Not from what you and the rest of the lads are saying.’
Liam looked up at the lieutenant. ‘You mean it was planned? They knew we were coming?’
‘I’m not saying anything yet,’ said the lieutenant. ‘But the only people who knew we were heading out are within these walls. To get wind of you turning up, and to arrive with sufficient numbers to cut you off and try to block your exit with pre-laid IEDs – that takes planning. Serious, fucking planning.’
It was the first time Liam had heard the lieutenant swear. It added a certain gravitas to the situation, as though everything that had happened up to this point had been just bad, but this was seriously messed up. Liam was also aware that what the lieutenant had said was right in line with what Rob had voiced after the Chinook was hit. Was there really an insider threat?
‘But who would do that?’ he asked, not wishing to make a big deal out of his own thoughts on it quite yet. And anyway, he had no evidence, nothing additional that would help the situation.
Steers said nothing, but his eyes strayed over to the ANA, and in their sweep took in Zaman.
‘No way, sir,’ said Liam. ‘Shah’s golden, all the lads trust him.’
‘It’s none of our boys, clearly,’ said Steers. ‘It has to be local intelligence. It’s the only answer.
‘We need to find out how this information was leaked,’ he went on. ‘And Scott, you’re our main contact.’
Liam shook his head. ‘Shah is with us,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’
‘I do trust
you,’ said Steers. ‘But I also have to uncover exactly what’s going on here. And I need your help to do that. No argument. Understand?’
‘Sir,’ said Liam.
The lieutenant left and walked over to the rest of the patrol.
Later, when everyone had calmed down, and the patrol had been fully debriefed, Liam was having a lie-down and trying to work out exactly how he was going to help the lieutenant. All he could really do, he realized, was just keep his eyes and ears open. Not only were they out in the wilds with the Taliban clearly up for a fight, they had someone in the patrol base who was happy to betray them. He remembered Zaman saying his brother was in the Taliban. But would he really be stupid enough to say that, make himself number one suspect, then go off and direct fire? Liam wasn’t convinced. It didn’t make sense. But he still had to follow orders.
‘Oi! Scott! What do you think?’
Clint interrupted his train of thought. Liam glanced up and grinned at what he saw.
‘GQ got his bird to send them over,’ said Clint. ‘Brilliant!’
Clint, much to Liam’s and everyone else’s amusement, was now sitting on his bed, feet pushed into a pair of bright red grandad slippers, and puffing away on a pipe.
‘Not one for smoking, I have to say,’ said Clint, ‘but this pipe rocks!’
Liam laughed. He’d heard that the post had come through, but he’d not had time to check if there was anything for him. He wasn’t expecting anything – there was no one really back home to send it.
‘Suits you,’ he said. ‘You our grandad now, then?’
‘Fucking old enough,’ said Ade. ‘But that pipe does smell fit. What baccy is in it?’
Clint lifted up a metal tin. ‘Says here it’s something called Sunset Breeze.’
‘Better than those fags you chuff on, Sunter,’ said Liam.
‘Makes me look wise,’ said Clint, then laughed. ‘Not sure the wife’ll agree, though!’
After the firefight they’d just survived, it was a much-needed release to be joking around. And the arrival of post was always a welcome distraction.
‘There’s something on your bed,’ said Clint, pointing.
Liam was surprised. He walked over and picked up parcel. Inside was a note: ‘Hello, chap! Sorry it took so long to get these printed. Good memories! Regards, Chris.’ Behind the note was a pack of photographs. Liam slipped them out and laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Clint. ‘It can’t be me. I look awesome.’
Liam handed the photographs over one at a time, the first showing him, Chris and Jason, pint glasses in hand, each of them wearing a sombrero – Jason’s idea of livening things up a bit.
‘It’s the reason I’m here really,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Took a holiday, found I missed being out in Afghanistan!’
Liam’s laugh was cut in half as a shout bounced across from the other side of the compound. Liam turned to see James backed into a corner, hands up in defence.
And in front of him, fists up and ready, was Tim Harding, closing in for a kill.
17
Liam was up and across the compound in a shot.
‘Harding! Stand down, mate! The fuck are you doing? Stand down!’
Tim wasn’t listening, his eyes focused on James and nothing else.
Cowell turned up. ‘What’s going on, Scott?’
‘Don’t know, boss,’ said Liam. ‘Stirling?’
With Tim holding off, James said, ‘Don’t ask me, Scott. All I know is, we’ve come off that bitch of a patrol and this loon decides to have a go.’
‘There’s more to this than that,’ said Cowell, and moved to step between James and Tim.
‘Don’t! Just fucking don’t!’ Tim yelled. ‘This bastard called me a coward, that’s what happened! A coward, you hear? And I’m not a fucking coward! I’m not!’
Liam looked across to James, raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
James shook his head. ‘He was saying he wasn’t going out again,’ he said. ‘Started mouthing off that what we’re doing is pointless and that he wasn’t doing it any more. All I said was that we don’t give up on a job we’re here to do. That’s what I said.’
‘I’m not a coward!’
‘I didn’t fucking say that!’
Tim edged forward and James looked at Liam and Cowell. ‘Seriously, if he gets any closer I’m going to nut the mad bastard, so someone better stop him.’
Liam could tell that James was holding himself back, doing the sensible thing and trying to keep the situation as calm as he could. But it looked like Tim wasn’t listening and Liam had a sense that, were it to kick off, James wouldn’t hold back.
‘Harding, you need to calm down. No one has called you a coward. Whatever this is about, we can talk about it.’
Cowell came in. ‘Scott’s right. Calm down and back away. Nobody wants to see us fighting each other. That’s not why we’re here.’
For a moment, it looked like Tim was listening. Then, without warning, he lunged at James.
James was ready for it. He dodged right, let Tim fall past him, then had his hands up, ready for a scrap. And, Liam noticed, it looked like he knew what he was doing, a boxer’s stance.
Liam didn’t give it a chance to get to that. He jumped in, pushed James away, then grabbed Tim.
‘Hold off,’ he shouted as Tim struggled. ‘Just calm the fuck down.’
Tim lashed out, his elbow slamming into Liam’s face. His nose took the brunt of it, and he fell back, but he didn’t let go, not even when he felt blood dripping into his mouth.
Cowell jumped in and at last they managed to pin Tim to the ground.
Lieutenant Steers jogged over. ‘I’m assuming there’s an explanation?’
James gave a quick run-down of what had happened.
‘Right,’ said Steers. ‘Stirling, I want you over at your bed to calm down. Corporal, bring Harding to me – we need to talk this through. Scott, get yourself to Harper – you’re bleeding. And no arguments from anyone. Just do as ordered.’
That done, Steers turned on his heel and strode off, clearly angered by what he’d just witnessed. Liam couldn’t blame him. It was stressful enough without infighting.
Liam found Nicky.
‘Just for the record,’ she said, ‘I’m not here just to keep you looking pretty. What happened?’
Liam explained. ‘Harding’s clearly gone a bit wrong,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching him and he’s never seemed totally relaxed. Now this. Mental.’
‘Stress out here affects everyone differently,’ said Nicky, taking a closer look at Liam’s nose. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Of course it hurts!’ he said. ‘The twat elbowed me in the face!’
Nicky reached up to touch it. Liam flinched. ‘Look, I need to see if it’s broken or not. And I can’t really do that just by looking.’ Liam held still and Nicky gently checked his nose. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s broken,’ she said. ‘He just caught you hard, that’s all. The bleeding is already stopping anyway. Here.’ She handed him some tissue and he held it to his nose. ‘Don’t put your head back. That does nothing. You just have to let it bleed out and clot naturally. It won’t take long.’
‘Your bedside manner sucks,’ said Liam.
‘You should see me on a bad day.’
Liam made his way back to Clint and the others. ‘Don’t ask,’ he said.
‘So what was all that about with Harding and Stirling?’ Clint asked.
Liam sat down. ‘Not sure,’ he said. ‘Steers and Cowell are with Harding now. He’s not seemed relaxed or right since we arrived, if you ask me.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Not sure really,’ said Liam. ‘But he’s not got the attitude right. I mean, it’s crap out here, but we chose it, right? No point beefing on about it. Get the job done, stay alive, look out for your mates, get home. Harding, though – he just always seemed on edge, in a bad way.’
Liam heard his name called out. It was X-Factor.
‘No rest in this place, is there?’ he said, making to leave.
‘This is the army, mate,’ said Clint. ‘And you know you love it.’
Liam found Cowell sitting with Steers and Miller. ‘Where’s Harding?’ he asked.
‘Calming down,’ said the lieutenant. ‘We need to decide what to do. And quickly.’ He added, ‘Scott, he’s refusing to fight. I’ll leave it at that. I could go on and give you every reason he gave us, but it’s not important. The fact of the matter is, we now have a soldier who is refusing to do what he’s paid for.’
‘And that’s a problem,’ said Steers.
‘Then he’s putting all of us at risk,’ said Liam, still holding tissues to his nose. ‘If he’s not out with us, we’re a man down, and that means less firepower, less protection.’
‘I agree,’ said Miller. ‘But we can’t force him out on patrol either. He’d be even more dangerous out with us in this state of mind. No telling what he’d do. For all we know he could run off or turn the weapon on himself or us.’
‘So what are our options?’ asked Liam, suddenly struck by the fact that he was now fully involved in a discussion with the leadership of their multiple, and they wanted his opinion.
‘We have to keep him here till we can get him back to Camp Bastion,’ said the lieutenant.
‘Swap for a replacement?’ said Liam. ‘Will there be one? Most soldiers are out on jobs. We can’t exactly nab someone from another multiple.’
‘Indeed,’ said the lieutenant. ‘Regardless of that, we have to keep him here for the now.’
‘So we keep him busy then,’ said Liam, growing in confidence. ‘There’s plenty to do here. We can have him sorting kit, keeping the place tidy, working the cookhouse. We can’t have him sitting around.’
‘Explain why not,’ Miller said, his voice hard.
‘Because it’ll shag everyone else’s morale,’ said Liam. ‘Harding decides he doesn’t want to play any more and gets to just sit on his arse? Fuck that, boss. He’s paid to be here, and if he doesn’t want to be out where it’s dangerous, then he can bloody well make himself useful.’
