Zero Option gs-2

by Chris Ryan

  No breath left. I had to put Norm down. I got hold of his limp left hand and started trying to drag him, but in the deep sand his weight and the pouches of his belt- kit made it almost impossible.

  Dimly I realised that Tony and Whinger had got Pat over the lip and into a temporary refuge. A second later Whinger was back beside me. He grabbed Norm's other hand, and the two of us got the body moving. By the time we had it in dead ground Tony had started giving Stew double flashes. With incredible relief I heard the engine of his quad, purring towards us. In a moment he was alongside.

  'What happened?'

  'Norm got one smack in the chest,' I said.

  'Instantaneous. Pat's got a gunshot wound to the right leg. He's lost a lot of blood.'

  I knew we ought to put more ground between us and the enemy before I started work on the casualty. On the other hand, I didn't think Pat could last very long.

  'Get the body in the trailer,' I said. 'And Pat. I've got to give him an IV right away.'

  While the others lifted Norm and lowered him into the bottom of the trailer, I broke out the med pack and sorted an IV drip. My hands were shaking so much I had trouble with the packaging.

  'Watch that fucking gate for me, Whinger,” I said.

  'Tell me if the bastards start out.'

  I slit away the sleeve of Pat's shirt and got the needle in his arm, but I had nothing to hang the bag of fluid from, so I handed it to Stew and said, 'Hold that a minute.'

  'Watch it, Geordie,' called Whinger, who was observing from up on the mound. 'They're at the gate now.'

  'Tell me when they've got it open.'

  'Wait out.'

  We got a minuteor so's respite. Then Whinger called, 'They're coming through. Six, seven, eight vehicles.'

  'Head for the LUP, then. Gimme the bag, Stew. I'll ride with him.'

  But could we move? When Stew went into gear and revved up, his wheels just spun in the sand. The weight in the trailer was too great. I leaped out, preparing to walk beside Pat, holding the IV above him. But still the trailer wouldn't shift.

  I pushed as hard as I could with my free hand. Tony was on the other side, heaving like he was in a rugger scrum. Whinger was still up top, observing the enemy.

  The temptation was to call him down and get him pushing too, but we needed him where he was.

  We made maybe fifty yards at a desperately slow speed, before the quad slewed sideways and slid, dropping into a deep, steep-sided hole, with the trailer jack-knifed round against it. The fall had jerked the needle out of Pat's arm, and I was left with it dangling on the end of the tube. At that very instant Whinger called down, 'Watch it, Geordie, they're turning to come in along the new road ahead of us.'

  I took an awful decision: we had to ditch Norm, and Pat we must save at all costs.

  'Where's yur Semtex?' I asked Tony.

  'Some here,' he patted his pouches. 'Most of it's in the trailer. Why?'

  'I want you to get rid of Norm's body.'

  'Aw, shit!'

  'I know. But we've got to do it. Those are our orders. If we keep him with us we'll put everyone at risk.'

  By then we were in one hell of a mess. Our only hope of getting the trailer out of the hole was to empty it. But Pat was lying on top of the heap, and before we could get Norm clear we had to shift Pat back on to land, causing him horrendous pain.

  I broke out a fresh wound-dressing, wrapped the IV: needle in it and laid the whole kit on top of my AK-47.

  Then I went to work. The body was still warm as in life.

  Holding it under the arms, I hauled it out and dragged:, it ten yards clear. Tony came with me, carrying his gear.

  'What shall I do?' I asked. 'Put him on his side in a fetal position?“ '

  'I guess. I've never done this before.'

  'How much Semtex have you got?'

  'Twelve pounds.

  'Put five in his midriff, and we'll wrap him round it.

  Tie his hands behind his knees.'

  'What about the fuse?'

  'Wait till We've got the trailer sorted. Then give us fifteen minutes.'

  'OK.'

  'Can you manage?'

  'I guess so.'

  'Sorry, Tony.'

  I felt round Norm's neck to make sure he wasn't wearing his ID discs on a chain, then scuttled back to the quad. Stew had already unhitched the empty trailer and pulled it up on to level ground. I broke out a rope and called Whinger down to help pull. With Stew driving and us two heaving, the bike scrabbled its way back on to the flat. All the time I was working, my mind was on Tony and his horrible task.

  We were all moving fast and silently, shocked by the realization that Norm, our taciturn but ever-reliable mate, was about to be blown to eternity. We also knew that we were rapidly being surrounded. Still not speak ing, we hitched up again, reloaded Pat and the two spare weapons into the trailer, and tried another start.

  This time the quad went forward without anyone pushing, and I knew We'd made the critical difference to the load.

  I got the IV needle back into Pat's arm and told him to hold the bag up above his head with the other hand.

  'Keep it up as long as you can,' I told him. 'Then have a rest, and up again.'

  Turning to Tony I called, 'How are you doing?'

  'Finishing now. What about the fuse?'

  'Start it going.'

  Whinger had scrambled back to his lookout post.

  'Lights moving out,' he said. 'Coming across our line of retreat.'

  'Shit!' I muttered. 'Let's go.'

  We reached the LUP without further incident. Stew had already ripped down the cam-netting, so we folded it over into a makeshift blanket, to give Pat some padding from the bumps and insulation from the air. In the distance behind us the Libyans were still filling the air with lead.

  'Booby trap both spare quads,' I told Tony. 'Pile most of the Semtex on them, and put a jerrican of petrol underneath. Quick as you can.'

  I put my head close to the casualty's and said, 'Pat?'

  'Yeah.'

  'You hear me all right?'

  'Sure.'

  'Listen. We've got to motor. Keep the bag up for as long as you can, OK?'

  'Right.'

  I turned to Tony and said, 'Pat's pulled back a bit already. I reckon he's stable now. How are you doing?'

  'Matter of seconds. I'm giving this one fifteen minutes of det cord.'

  'How long till Norm goes?'

  He shot a quick glance at his watch. 'Eight minutes.'

  'Let's get moving then.'

  'OK. It's burning.' Tony stood back for a second, then crossed to his own quad and jumped aboard.

  At last we were properly under way, heading due south, myself in the lead. Already the sand was firmer, the going faster. With every minute that passed, the noise of firing faded behind us. I uttered a silent prayer of thanks for the Magellans. With the coordinates of ER.V Six punched in, the needle on my little illuminated dial was giving me our course, and warning me every time I deviated to right or left.

  Yet as the seconds ticked away, I felt terrific tension rising inside me. Norm was about to be vaporized. The idea was disgusting, incredible. I thought of the bomb at WarrenPoint which had killed nineteen Paras. Two of them had literally disappeared into thin air; no trace of them was ever found.

  Lights! Lights ahead of us and below, maybe three hundred metres from us.

  'Everyone stop,' I called. 'Standby to see how far they're going.'

  Like the twats they were, the Libyans were driving slowly along the new road with headlights full on. The vehicles were maybe a couple of hundred yards apart, engines and gearboxes grinding in low gear.

  'First explosion imminent,' said Tony's voice in my ear — and then, before I had time to agonise any more, it came. A terrific flash split the sky behind us, and a heavy booth! buffeted through the air. Norman was gone. I tried to shut my mind to details about which bit of him might have been blown where; I just hoped there was nothing whatev
er left. Annihilation.

  When I tried to swallow, my throat felt desperately dry, and I was shaking with reaction. Concentrate on the job in hand, I told myself.

  I looked at the road and realised something was wrong with the picture I could see.

  'Whinger,' I called softly, 'you said you counted eight vehicles through the gate?'

  'Correct,' he answered. 'There's only six still mov ing. Two of the bastards have stopped off somewhere.'

  'Wait one.' I pulled up my kite-sight and switched it on. Sure enough, I picked up the two delinquents, one a couple of hundred yards to the left of our line of retreat, the other twice that. 'They're putting out a cordon,' I said. 'The next one will stop in a moment…

  There he goes.'

  A third vehicle came to a halt and doused its lights.

  Scanning the ground with the night-sight, I saw that fortune at last was favouring us. From where we were a shallow gully ran down to the new road; rolling down it we would be invisible, and the sides would contain the sound of our engines.

  'We'll slip through between them,' I said. 'How long till the next bang, Tony?'

  'Four minutes.'

  'We'll use that as a diversion. Give us a countdown.

  All stations get your eyes shut before the flash. As soon as it goes, we roll. Whinger, stay back to cover the rest of us across. Once we're over, we'll stop and cover you.'

  Roger.'

  While we waited, I kept scanning with the sight. As I had expected, Gadaffi's fearless warriors preferred to do their soldiering from the safety of their vehicles.

  Nobody got out and started to walk about.

  'One minute,' Tony announced.

  I tucked the sight down the front of my shirt and settled my PNGs back over my eyes. At fifteen seconds I closed my eyes — and it was lust as well, because the flash and bang came fractionally before Tony called them.

  This second explosion, being much closer, sounded far more dramatic. Anyone looking back towards the camp would have got an eyeful. Before the echoes had rolled away we were bobbing down the gully and across the road. I held my breath and kept going steadily until we were well clear, then stopped everyone and turned to cover the crossing while I called Whinger on.

  Now we were on the hard ground and up to full speed. We had a much shorter way to go than on the run-in, because our pick-up point was only a couple of kilometres beyond the south bank of the big wadi.

  After twenty minutes of steady travel, I called, 'M1 stations — comms halt now. Close on me.'

  With pickets out ahead and behind, Whinger set up his Satcom and started aligning the little dish-aerial. I thought of the big aerial in the camp, still functioning, and tried to put that minor failure behind me. As Whinger fiddled, I took another look at Pat. When I loosened the tourniquet, blood started to seep through the wound-dressings, so I tightened it again and got another IV going. I stayed with him while Whinger was getting through to Hereford, chatting quietly to encourage him, trying not to think about Norm.

  'Fucking great bang,' Pat muttered hazily. 'What was that?'

  'Tony put your quad into orbit, to stop anyone else getting their hands on it.'

  'Shit hot!'

  'Going through,' said Whinger.

  I passed the IV bag to Tony and took the handset.

  'Zero Alpha, Zero Alpha, this is Delta Four. How do you hear me?'

  'Zero Alpha. Loud and clear. Over.' It was Mac's voice, his Glasgow accent unmistakable even via the satellite.

  'Delta Four. I confirm the bird is down. We're clear of the target area and heading for the pick-up point.

  ETA there between figures four zero and figures six zero minutes from now. Repeat from four zero to six zero minutes.'

  'Zero Alpha. Roger. Your transport is en route to you. Will confirm your timings to Captain Steve.

  Over.'

  'Delta Four. Roger. We have one casualty. Bravo Seven has a serious leg wound. He's stable, but we need a doctor soonest. Best if we can have one on the Here.

  Over.'

  'Zero Alpha. Roger. We'll do what-we can.'

  We found a different way down into the wadi and picked out a path across its boulder-strewn floor without difficulty. After a quick run across the gravel plain, we were on the pick-up location well within the window I'd given. The ground there was flat and hard, with a bit of sand on the surface, but no obstructions, so that the heli would be able to land anywhere. Having chosen the best-looking spot, we spread out in all round defence and listened for the sound of engines.

  The night was utterly quiet, with just a breath of wind from the south-east. Looking back to the north, I could see no lights in the sky, no sign of vehicles moving, and I guessed that after a token watch in the desert the Libyans had retreated into camp. I imagined a fire-crew fighting the blaze in the accommodation block. If the whole building had gone up and Khadduri's body had been incinerated, the home team might never realise that he'd been assassinated.

  Scanning through my PNGs, I could make out the other quads dotted round in a circle. It was difficult to sit still and wait, so hyped-up did I feel. Every minute or two I had a word with Pat, lying in the trailer beside me. During one of the longer silences, the idea of meeting Norm's next-of-kin began to bug me. Because he came from so far away — Glasgow — and spoke so little, I didn't know much about his family. I had the impression that his father was dead and his mum had married again. What was I going to say to her?

  I kept trying to work out when our Chinook would have taken offfrom Siwa and how long it might take to reach us. As we had no solid information, everything was guesswork. From their pre-briefing, the crew knew that EtV Six was twenty kilometres due south of the camp perimeter, and I was confident they were heading for us.

  It was Whinger, with his very sharp ears, who heard the sound first. 'Aircraft engines east,' he announced. I switched my radio to the channel I expected the chopper crew to be using and called, 'Hello Steve, hello Steve, this is Geordie. How d'you read me? Over.'

  'Hi, Geordie. You're loud and clear. I'm heading two-six-zero. Estimating six minutes to the LZ. Over.'

  'Roger. That's great. Keep coming. We can hear you due east of our position. The deck's clear for you to land. We've got i firefly on now.'

  'Roger. Do my guys need any particular instructions for loading your casualty?'

  'No, thanks. We've got him laid in the trailer, so he can be driven straight in.'

  'Roger. Standby.'

  'And… Steve?'

  'Yes?'

  'We've only four quads left. Had to bin the others.

  So the loadies'll only need to count four in.'

  'Roger.'

  It was a fantastic relief to know that the chopper was on course. Again I gave thanks for the existence of the Magellan and the pinpoint accuracy it offered us. No doubt the crew of the Chinook would have found us in the end by using old-fashioned methods of navigation, but almost certainly the recovery would have taken longer. Most of my anxieties fell away; now the main worry was Pat.

  For three or four minutes the engine hum grew steadily louder.

  'We're hearing you stronger,' I called. 'Keep coming.'

  'Roger,' Steve called, and then, 'OK, OK. I've got you. We were almost spot on. Turning towards you now. OK, the firefly's on the nose. All clear to land beside it?'

  'Perfect. We're standing off.'

  'Roger. I'll come straight in.'

  I went back on to our chatter net and called to Whinger: 'Pull away from his line of approach or you'll get your bloody head cut off. All stations, start up. He'll be here in under a minute. Stew, you'll be first on with the trailer.'

  'Roger.'

  Pulling the PNGs down on to my chest, I replaced them with ordinary ski goggles, started the quad and turned to face into the circle. For a few moments I could hear the noise of my own engine. Then the thudding of rotor blades and the scream of turbines blotted it out, and all at once a great black monster was looming towards us ou
t of the night, practically at ground level, with a dark sand-cloud seething behind it.

  Without wasting an instant, Steve hovered, turned in the air and put his arse down right beside the firefly. In the last few seconds the noise became overwhelming.

  Sand and dust boiled up furiously, and as I drove into the cloud I found the ramp already down, and there were the loadies, beckoning Stew on. In less than a minute all four quads were safely aboard, and we lifted away.

  In the dim light of the hold I could see that Tony's face and hands were smeared with dried blood.

  Khadduri's. My hands were the same, but the blood was Pat's. The blood all down the backs of my legs was Norm's.

  For our lads, the relief of being airborne was overwhelming; we felt we were already half-way home, our troubles behind us. For the crew, though, things were different. From their strained faces I could see they were shitting themselves with the possibility of going down in alien territory. Not until we'd cleared the Egyptian border would they be able to relax. Engine failure, or a SAM from a trigger-happy sentry in some Libyan frontier-post — either would spoil the party in a few seconds. In my mind I ran through the emergency drills we'd talked about in Hereford, what we'd do in the event of a forced landing. We still had enough explosive to destroy the Chinook if need be, but that would be the last resort.

  As for Pat, I knew the important thing was to make him keep fighting. On other operations I'd seen guys who'd been wounded hold out well until they thought they were in safe hands, and then suddenly slide downhill as they stopped making a positive effort to survive. When that happens, shock can take over.

  I went and looked down over the side of the trailer.

  Pat's eyes were shut, so I gave him a tap on the arm and shouted, 'Stick at it, mate. There's going to be a doctor on the Here. Only an hour to go.'

  The morphine had put him half-under, but he mustered a bit of a smile and muttered, 'Fuck 'em all!'

  I raised a thumb, held my fist above his head for a moment, gave him a tap on the shoulder and moved away.

  When I called the head-shed on the secure radio link, I was put straight on to the CO. I told him about Norm and Pat, but there was only one subject he seemed interested in: was I sure that the target was dead?