Abdul moved the hammer out of sight behind his leg and smiled thinly at the man he was about to kill.
Mallory faced the hole again, pulled away several handfuls of earth from the side of the box and felt for the handle. He eventually dug it free, took a firm grip of it and put all his effort into pulling up the edge of the box. It resisted at first but a little more effort and the corner moved and then seemed to spring up. Mallory lifted the box onto its side, got to his feet, pulled it out of the hole completely and rested it on the path.
He stood upright and took a breather.
Abdul was about to raise the hammer when Mallory dropped to his knees again.
‘Right. Let’s see if the worms have left us anything,’ he said as he unclipped the lid with some effort, gripped its edges and prised it open. He could not see inside the box well enough to confirm it was the money although it was obviously full.A layer of fine sand covered the paper and Mallory’s smile returned as he pulled out a tight bundle of notes. He shook the remaining dust off, flicked through the bills and held them out to Abdul. ‘There you go. Ten thousand US dollars.’
Mallory was not looking directly at Abdul who quickly tucked the hammer under his right arm and took Mallory’s offering.
‘And you can have another for your trouble later,’ Mallory said as he dragged the bag alongside the box and began transferring the money into it.
Abdul stared again at the back of Mallory’s head as he put his bundle of money into his pocket and gripped the hammer once again. The rest of Abdul’s journey suddenly became clear to him and he knew what he had to do.
Abdul strengthened his grip on the haft and brought the hammer out in front of him. Mallory was busy transferring the bundles of banknotes, his head more or less in the same position, and Abdul stepped down onto the path behind him, adopted a wide-legged stance and raised the spike.
Mallory placed the last of the bundles in the bag, ran a hand around the inside of the box to be sure he’d emptied it and closed the bag. ‘Can’t believe I’ve actually got this far,’ he said.
Abdul held the spike high and focused on the centre of Mallory’s head.
‘Wait,’ Mallory said suddenly as his ears picked up a repetitive distant concussive sound that alarmed him although he could not immediately identify it.
Abdul froze before lowering his weapon, momentarily confused. He could hear nothing: aware that time was running out, he raised the spike again, grimacing with effort as he started to drive it down.
Mallory suddenly remembered what those distant thumps meant: he had heard similar sounds many times during the war. They were heavy cannon being fired from several miles away, one after the other. The shells would take only a few seconds to land.
As Abdul’s hammer spike drove through the air towards Mallory’s skull the first shell struck the cemetery, the powerful explosion producing a shock wave that lifted both men off their feet and tossed them aside like rag dolls. The ground rocked as a series of the shells struck in quick succession, half a second between each as they landed across the cemetery and through the houses opposite.
Mallory slammed against a headstone and was knocked close to unconsciousness. Abdul landed on a grave with a metal surround, smashing a collection of flowerpots within it. He tried to sit up as his brain fought to understand what was happening but he fell back as another blast shotgunned him with soil, pebbles and fragmented headstone rock. The barrage raged around them, the ground shaking as masses of earth were thrown into the air. The sound was deafening. Mallory came back to near-consciousness and rolled into a ball, his hands tight around his head as soil and debris rained down. A ton of headstone landed feet from him, then toppled over to hit the edge of a grave, thereby miraculously forming a shelter instead of flattening him. He remained unaware for the time being and stayed curled in a tight ball, jolting with each powerful boom and expecting the next to be the one that tore him to shreds. A nearby headstone exploded as a chunk of shrapnel slammed through it. The incoming shells sounded like screaming freight trains, only a thousand times louder, before they struck the ground. It was a symphony of doom: fiery, ear-splitting blasts, white-hot chunks of shrapnel that shrieked like banshees and shock waves powerful enough to rip stone walls apart.
Mallory was unable to move while death tore hungrily through the air, seeking victims inches above him. He could not think, only pray that it would end soon. There was a brief lull and he considered getting out of there, but just as he did the shells returned.
Mallory had no idea how long he lay in his cocoon of dirt and fear. It seemed like an age before the barrage gradually moved away and into the town. But he was alert enough to know that he too had to move - and soon. Artillery barrages were intended to clear a path for an assault that would follow close on its heels and out in the open was no place to be when tanks and infantry were bearing down on their targets.
Mallory raised his head, banged it on the massive headstone, brushed the dirt from his face and eyes and looked up at the grey slab. Had it landed a few feet to either side it would have flattened him. As he started to crawl out from under it he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and touched it to find a wet spot that was obviously blood. He pressed it gently to feel if the bone was still intact, which it appeared to be, and went on to check the rest of his body. Satisfied that he had no broken bones or missing pieces he crawled out from under the slab and sat up. He saw the money bag a few metres away, covered in dirt. He got to his feet to look for Abdul and saw him lying on a grave several metres away. As he made his way to him across shattered tombs the young Arab began to stir.
‘Abdul?’ Mallory called out, hardly able to hear his own voice. His ears felt muffled as if they were filled with dirt. He took hold of Abdul’s jacket and gave it a tug. ‘Abdul?’
Abdul looked completely disorientated, mouth open, eyes blinking and darting in every direction.
‘We have to get going.’
Abdul continued to blink rapidly in fear and confusion as he attempted to focus on Mallory.
‘You OK?’ Mallory asked.
Abdul looked around as if he was trying to decide where he was. He made an attempt to get up but his legs and arms began to shake and Mallory took his weight as he helped him. ‘That’s it. We have to get going.’
Abdul reached for a headstone to steady himself while Mallory held him under his arms. ‘Stay there a moment,’ Mallory said as he made his way back to the money bag, quickly checked it for damage, crouched to put the strap over his head and with a great effort got to his feet.The back of his head began to throb but he gritted his teeth, straightened up and stumbled back to Abdul.
The young Arab was still holding on to the headstone and staring at the ground as if in a daze. Mallory took hold of his arm. ‘Come on. We can’t stay out in the open.’
Abdul did not appear to hear him but he responded when Mallory yanked him forward. They stumbled through the graveyard, Mallory scanning in all directions to get his bearings. He decided that the motorway was on his left and north of the cemetery which would make an ideal kill-zone for anyone trying to break out of the town. Alternatively, it would be a good location from which to form up and mount an assault.The only thing to do was head into the town, find somewhere to hide and then surrender to the Americans as soon as it was safe to do so.
The rolling barrage was still heavy, heading towards the centre of the town. But just as Mallory thought they were at least safe from that, a series of powerful explosions behind them alarmed him and he feared it might be the start of a follow-up shelling. They had been lucky with the first barrage but might not survive another.
‘Come on!’ Mallory shouted as he picked up the pace and pulled Abdul along.
Abdul appeared to understand the need to hurry and increased his speed as they moved across the cratered ground. Mallory wondered if the young Arab was experiencing some kind of shell-shock and could only hope that he would keep moving.
Mallory managed
to retrace their route despite much of the ground being churned up. He could make out the gap they had come through between the buildings and he steered Abdul towards it.
The thunder of exploding artillery shells intensified and every few seconds a jagged chunk of metal flew past them.The effort to make it to the narrow alleyway became desperate.They scrambled over a low wall, the money bag falling heavily off Mallory’s shoulder as he pulled Abdul across. Abdul dropped to his knees as a shell landed inside the cemetery not far away and Mallory fell to the ground beside him.
‘We have to keep going,’ Mallory shouted as he got up and pulled Abdul to his feet. They broke into a run along the alley.
It felt as if they were surrounded by explosions. A section of a building up ahead gave way and crumbled into the alleyway but the men hurled themselves over the rubble. They were on a roller-coaster ride from hell and could be blown to bits, crushed or riddled by shrapnel at any second. But to stop seemed more dangerous than to keep moving.
As they ran out of the alley and across the open square an explosion ahead caused Mallory to hesitate and consider dropping down somewhere - anywhere - to wait out the assault. But a series of crunching booms behind changed his mind and they kept up the pace. As they turned a corner into a narrow street Mallory wondered if they shouldn’t just keep going until they reached Muhammad’s house. Stanza was probably hysterical by now. Mallory had considered leaving the journalist to his own devices, a decision that might have been easier to make had the man not been so pathetic. But Stanza was his responsibility, after all, and Mallory might as well wait out the assault with him as anywhere else - if they could make it back in one piece.
The explosions continued but for the most part appeared to be concentrated behind them.The barrage was as much a psychological weapon - a way of softening up the enemy - as it was a means of destroying defences and covering an assault. Mallory had not heard any small-arms fire and wondered if the Marines planned to bomb and shell the place for hours before sending in the first ground troops. Either way, Muhammad’s house now seemed as good as any as a place of refuge.
Mallory and Abdul paused, exhausted, at the corner of the street that led onto the broad boulevard that now looked quite different from when they had crossed it earlier. Several fires were burning fiercely in front of the mosque where the vehicles had been gathered and judging by the twisted wreckage strewn around they had received a direct hit. Craters peppered the roadway and every telegraph and electricity pole appeared to have collapsed, their wires criss-crossing everywhere.
Several louder explosions behind them goaded them on. Mallory pulled Abdul onto the boulevard and they crossed over poles and ducked under wires towards the other side, which they could barely see. The air was filled with a dense acrid smoke that burned the back of Mallory’s throat and he tried to cover his mouth as he ran. He lost his grip on Abdul as he tripped over something. When he looked back Abdul was close behind him, nearly blinded by ash, and Mallory took hold of him and led him along the side of the buildings until they reached a street which they hurried into.
The air quality improved dramatically but as they reached the next road junction gunfire erupted. It sounded like heavy machine guns, .50-cal or greater: either the defenders were shooting at anything in reaction to the shelling or the ground assault had begun.
Mallory and Abdul hurried along a street and turned a corner to see Muhammad’s garage up ahead. The house across from it had received a direct hit and had collapsed, dragging a section of the next-door building down with it.A fire was burning inside. Mallory hurried to the garage door to discover that a chunk of it was missing. He dragged Abdul inside, leaned him against the vehicle, opened the trunk of the car, threw the bag in, slammed the trunk shut and carried on into the house.
He walked into the living room, expecting to see Stanza. But the place was in darkness, the benzene lamp extinguished and the only light coming from the open doorway - open because the door had been blown in - that led to the hallway. Mallory walked across the debris-covered cushions to look into the hallway only to discover that the front door had been blown off its hinges too and was lying on the floor, along with its frame. A figure ran past outside and Mallory stepped out of sight to consider what to do.
A groan came from somewhere near his feet and at the same time the living-room door moved. Mallory pulled the edge of the door up to find Stanza lying beneath. He quickly shoved it aside.
‘Stanza? It’s Mallory.’ He removed pieces of wood and other debris from Stanza’s face and torso. ‘Can you hear me? Stanza?’
Stanza was breathing in short, sharp bursts. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly.
‘Easy,’ Mallory said. ‘You’re fine but you need to lie still a moment.’
Mallory checked Stanza for signs of any broken bones or bleeding. ‘Can you hear me, Stanza?’
Stanza’s breathing slowed as Mallory came into focus. He tried to speak but no words came out and he broke into a coughing fit that forced him over onto his side. ‘Mallory?’ Stanza finally wheezed as he struggled to get his breath.
‘You’re OK.’
Stanza continued coughing but not as desperately. ‘Where . . . where’ve you been?’
‘Do you have any pain anywhere?’ Mallory asked. ‘Can you see me OK?’
Stanza nodded. ‘I’m OK. I’m OK . . . What the hell happened?’
An explosion shook the house and dust seemed to leap from the walls to fill the room.
‘The assault’s begun,’ Mallory said. ‘Can you stand?’
The shelling continued in the distance and Stanza looked through the door at the fire across the street. ‘Sweet Jesus. I thought the insurgents had attacked the house.’ He made a move to get up and Mallory took most of his weight. Stanza wobbled on his feet while Mallory held him.
‘We might need to get out of here,’ Mallory said.
Stanza felt all over his head as if checking that everything was still in place Then he looked at Mallory’s dust-covered face that had a dozen small, dried cuts all over it. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Same as you.’
Stanza looked around and let go of Mallory to stand on his own two feet. He looked up as a couple of nearby booms shook the ground. ‘The assault.’
‘We need to decide what to do.’
Stanza shuffled over to the sink, leaned heavily against it, took the remaining glass off the shelf and held it under the tap as he turned it on. A dribble of water came out before it stopped altogether. Another explosion rattled the building to produce more dust and Stanza looked around at Mallory with fear in his eyes. ‘What shall we do?’
‘I think all we can do is wait it out and surrender when the Marines arrive.’
‘Can we survive until then - in here?’
‘We won’t live any longer out there.’
‘Where’s Abdul?’
Mallory suddenly realised that the young Arab had not followed him into the room. He went to the back door, moved down the short hallway and entered the garage. ‘Abdul?’ he called out. There was no sign of him. Mallory hurried to the back of the car and lifted up the trunk lid. The bag seemed to be as he’d left it and he opened it up to find the money untouched. He went to the garage door to look out through the hole. There was no sign of life. Then a nearby explosion splattered the house with shrapnel, forcing him back inside. He went to the car, lifted the bag out of the trunk and made his way back into the living room where Stanza was still standing by the sink.
Mallory put the bag down and went into the hallway to the front door.
He peered outside into the street that was a mess of debris; chunks of bricks and mortar, splintered wood, trailing wires and lots of smoke. A few feet in front of him lay a buckled lifeless body. The jacket looked familiar and Mallory edged out of the doorway to get a closer view of the face. It was disfigured, one of the eyes hanging from its socket and the lower jaw torn away, but he was just about recognisable. Mallory was certain it w
as Abdul’s cousin.
Large pieces of ash floated by on the warm air like grubby snowflakes.The ground shook as a shell landed close by and showers of powdered masonry fell on Mallory. A man in a tattered dishdash who was carrying an assault rifle ran quickly down the street, past Mallory and out of sight.
Mallory decided that Abdul had legged it. The man was shell-shocked and couldn’t be blamed. He’d taken a hammering at the cemetery and was lucky to be alive. They both were. Mallory could only wish him luck and hope that the Marines wouldn’t shoot him before he had a chance to surrender. He thought of Tasneen and wondered what he would tell her. But then, he’d have to get back himself to do that and at present the prospects of that were in the balance.
Mallory went back into the living room to find that Stanza had not moved.
‘This house’ll collapse if this keeps up,’ Stanza said.
‘What do you want me to fucking well do?’ Mallory shouted, the stress and Stanza’s bleating finally getting the better of him. ‘Why don’t you just accept that if we get out of here in one piece we’re going to be lucky, OK?’
Stanza blinked at him innocently as if he, Stanza, was being victimised. Another heavy boom shook the house and Stanza gripped the sink behind him as his stare darted to the ceiling where a crack had suddenly widened. ‘Perhaps there’s a basement,’ he said.
‘Why don’t you go and look for one, then?’ Mallory said, wondering if there was indeed a safe place to wait for the Americans to arrive. The garage, perhaps. Better still, inside the car. Short of a direct hit, being inside a metal box would be safer than being out in the open. A fire would, of course, be a problem if they got trapped. But then maybe they could drive out, at least. Mallory’s mind was racing. He looked at Stanza who had not moved but was wearing a most odd expression, a combination of shock and fear. He realised that Stanza was looking behind him and he turned around to see the demonic insurgent they’d encountered earlier standing in the doorway. His dishdash was soiled, his machine-gun dusty in his grimy hands. A couple of bandoliers of linked ammunition spanned his chest and a short sword in a scabbard hung from a leather belt around his waist. Mallory took a step back as the Arab’s crazed stare bored into him. Then the human devil moved out of the doorway and his leader walked in, dressed in a similar fashion as if ready for battle.A series of new explosions shook the building but no one reacted, not even Stanza.
The Protector Page 35
