‘And the western offence?’
‘You know what to do? I’ll be there for you, but start the party without me…’
Static again.
I switched my attention back to the screens. The two jeeps had at first seemed close to each other, but now I noticed the gap between them. Another problem. They were on the flatlands now and they were pitching up dirt and dust into the air as they bumped their way across the scorched fields. All the while, I tried to think two steps ahead of them. Would they stop short of the ditch? Would one cross the bridge, whilst the other remained on the far side patrolling the perimeter? Or would they throw it all into a single blitz attack? I took a deep breath. Had to be the latter. I was counting on it.
No further word from Terry. Nothing from the other east-facing camera, but the one that had gone dark was the one that had been focussed on the most likely hiding area close to the riverside.
I swallowed hard. Everything in my mouth tasted thick and dry. The jeeps were close now. The one to the rear was maintaining its distance from the other. Just a little more speed, I whispered to myself. Get yourself on the arse of your brothers in arms. If you’re going to support them, do it properly. You’re in the second vehicle, but in your head you arrive at exactly the same time. Don’t lag behind, you fucker!
Two hundred yards.
A few seconds.
Faster, damn you!
It didn’t happen. The first jeep slammed onto the bridge and kept on coming, foot down. It was almost over the ditch, practically at the end of the bridge. The second jeep was not going to make it on there in time.
I cursed and flicked a switch I had been holding.
The sight of forty pounds of TNT explosive, an armoured jeep, a wooden bridge and four stone pillars detonating was an incredible sight. The concussive soundwave came moments later, rattling the house itself and blowing out a couple of single-pane windows. The pall of flame and dust and smoke reached up and out and I suddenly realised I was now blind. I blinked rapidly, willing my vision to adjust. One jeep was definitely toast. The other looked as if it would have been close enough for its momentum to hit the spot where the bridge had once been. Not devastating, but hopefully a deep wound.
From which there would be survivors.
At least, that’s what I had to allow for.
As I waited for my eyesight to improve and for the dust cloud to disperse, I kept watch to see if someone managed to crawl from the wreckage. I guessed three or four men in each vehicle. It was possible that someone could have survived in the lead jeep, but I would bet on at least two or three making it out of the second.
A minute ticked by.
Another, and another.
Something wasn’t right. Not only was there no movement from the bridge, but no other cameras showed encroachment from the remaining members of the team. I ran a hand across my forehead and tried to think what this might mean. Could they have all been inside the two jeeps? If so, were they all now lying either dead or dying amidst the smoke and debris? Having your entire unit attacking from a single compass point made little sense to me, but then neither I nor Terry had conceived of them lying behind the rise of the hill out front. It was too far away. Anyone watching would see them coming for…
That was exactly it.
I realised then how badly I had misjudged the situation. An approach from that direction would obviously be seen. Long enough to prepare for it, too. Which would mean you would not commit all of your men at all. Instead, you would send the fewest.
I had just started using the zoom feature on the camera now pointing at the bridge when I heard the shots from the rear of the property.
THIRTY-SIX
Something had been nagging at Terry from the moment he had returned from the second tunnel. It wasn’t so much that his strikes had been easy; but there should have been more personnel out there. Clearly these men had no idea about the tunnels, but he was certain that between ten and twelve enemy combatants would have been used. Positioning only two at each location implied fewer forces had been deployed, and he wasn’t buying that.
At the back of the house, he kept shaking his head and cursing beneath his breath. There had to be men out there, and they had to be across the river. So why the hell could he not locate them? Terry was now convinced that a trap of sorts had been set, only he was unable to grasp any of its complexities. It made no sense to overload the front, where secreting themselves would be difficult enough for even a couple of men.
The chatter with Mike had not clarified matters, because Terry did not believe they would focus their main force from the west. He believed the jeeps were a diversion, that their intention was to draw fire and stop short of the ditch. The only reason for deploying the jeeps in this fashion was to conceal their real intentions: to storm from the other side of the river; buying time to do so.
The blast from the other side of the house came as a shock. The dynamite had been set many months before; a precaution he had decided upon in the wake of a veiled threat he had received from one of the Boko Haram leaders in Nigeria. His instructions to Mike had been to blow the bridge if any combatants or their vehicles tried to use it. Terry had been convinced they would have no need of the explosives. Since it had gone up now he could only assume they were in trouble.
With a shake of his head, followed by more muttered swearing, Terry started making his way back to the house. He remained above ground, suspecting he had been entirely wrong, and that the strike team had massed to the front and were now attempting to overwhelm Mike. If they did, Melissa and Charlie would be exposed. No way was he going to allow that to happen. He cursed his own ineptitude in not spotting the deception earlier.
Terry was out in full view, and if whoever was hunting them had posted a sniper anywhere within half a mile on this side of the house, he would be dead long before the sound of the shot scattered birds from the trees. He alternated between crouching and running, tracing zig-zag patterns across the uneven lawns. A good rifleman would still have him, and he was making so much noise that if anyone was lying in wait, they would be more than prepared for him.
Still he ran on, panting now, worried about what might be happening on the far side of the house. He could see the cloud of smoke and dust billowing over the rooftop. He had to get around there. Had to intervene before they breached Mike’s defensive shield.
And then he stopped.
So suddenly he almost tripped over his own boots.
Mike had said two jeeps. A full-frontal attack, utilising all available men made no sense at all. But the one thing it was bound to achieve was to draw attention.
Everyone’s attention.
Terry turned to look behind him. He was certain now that the attack team had discovered their fallen comrades. Possibly even the tunnels. There was only one reason to draw fire out front in such an obvious way: the real attack was coming from the point he had just vacated.
Terry sensed movement. Low and fast. He crouched down, hoisting his weapon. The muffled sounds he heard suggested that those coming his way were splintered. Moving across to his left, towards the tunnel entrance. As well as straight on towards him. There was no time to form even the most basic plan. He had to stop them accessing that tunnel. He rose swiftly, headed across to find some cover beside a rickety garden shed, most of its boards either missing or hanging askew. It was no hiding place, but it had the advantage of not being out in the open. Terry slid in whilst still on the run, throwing up dry dirt. He took position on one knee.
Movement again.
Followed by encroaching figures.
This time he opened fire.
*
The time for inaction was over. We had been duped. I was certain of it. The jeeps had been little more than decoys. I had no doubt now that the only occupant in each had been the drivers. Not exactly a suicide mission, but close enough. They could not have known about the TNT, but some form of hardcore defence had to have been anticipated. I understood my mission
now was to ignore the wreckage at the bridge and concentrate on both protecting Melissa and Charlie, and helping Terry if at all possible.
The original plan would have had me sprinting upstairs into the roof space and using the weapons stored by each dormer window. But there was no tactical advantage to be had from the high ground now. It was either here, on the ground floor, or below the property. I turned it over inside my head as fast as I was able to process the variables.
Rusty, but not a newbie.
First job was to secure my baggage. Terry’s instruction. My responsibility. I had to get Mel and Charlie headed down the tunnel that ran at a level lower than the others, away at an angle towards the river and safe passage via the Land Rover.
For them.
The intention was that I accompany them, but I had known all along that I would not do that. Instead I would help them on their way, close the door behind them and reposition the shelf. Then I would seek out Terry and discover for myself what had been started. I owed him that. He would not see things the same way, but he would have to deal with that afterwards.
I still had no idea why all of this had been set in motion. Not that it mattered now. My task was to ensure Mel and Charlie made good their escape. I would then stand with my friend. And I would put my faith in myself and Terry Cochran, safe in the knowledge that my baggage was secure.
Melissa and Charlie had been positioned strategically within the house. Central to all entrances and exits, yards from the scullery, which led to the basement, which in turn led to the subterranean channel out of this hellish mess, and on to safety. I made my way quickly but cautiously to the room I had left them in, threw open the door and started to speak.
My mouth flapped open uselessly.
The room was empty.
I made a rapid calculation. Melissa would have heard the explosion, and soon afterwards the gunfire from the rear of the property would have claimed her attention. Charlie would have been terrified at that point. Mel had been instructed to run if things so much as looked as if they had become unglued. The fact that she had moved was a good thing, I decided. A positive step.
I turned and headed for the scullery. Then stopped dead.
A figure in a camouflage style Operational Combat Uniform was making its way along the passage, moving silently from the kitchen where only hours before, myself and Terry had made our plans. I recognised the multi-terrain pattern as that chosen by UK forces. And even on a sweltering summer’s day, the figure wore a ski mask to hide their features.
These men are no amateurs, I thought.
I had the drop on the intruder. Out of practice or not, my short-stock automatic rifle came up as one with my hands and I fired a suppressed two-burst round at the masked head. Only one bullet found its target, but the jet of blood and grey matter that erupted from the other side and coated the wall behind told me it was enough.
Heart clamouring, chest tight and heaving, I continued towards the scullery. This time I stayed in tune with my surroundings. Where there was one adversary, there would be another. These guys hunted in pairs. I felt pain behind my eyes, recognising the tension that had built up. I had killed two men today, and there was no coming back from that. Worse, I knew that in order for me to live, others would have to die.
Slowly, blood pounding in my temples, I sidled along the passageway. Darted my head back and forth when I reached the corner, snatching a glimpse around it. I wondered if I ought to take time to clear the kitchen. It was the smart thing to do; the move my training insisted upon. I inched my way forward, repeating the swift head movements. I saw no one inside, so I stepped in, rifle raised, red laser dot hitting the surfaces ahead of me.
Clear.
Back along the passage to the next door. I tried the handle and pushed, but it did not give. Locked. That had not been part of the plan. I glanced both ways, then removed my right hand from the weapon and rapped my knuckles on the door. Twice more when there was no reply.
I breathed out a sigh of relief. The locked scullery door told me one thing: Mel had taken Charlie to the waiting Land Rover. My baggage was on its own now. But it was safe.
A sharp snick of a noise to my left. A red dot on the wall, headed my way fast. I ducked and turned in the same blur of movement. Rapid fire came in my direction, shattering the wall just above my head, slamming into the heavy oak door to the scullery. I got off my own rounds in response, two at a time. Missed my target. I took a step to my left, then darted right, bullets zipping past my body and into the wall at the far end of the passage this time, destroying a painting, which fell and smashed to the tiled floor. My stance by this time was too awkward, and I fell onto my backside. Fortunately, the slip gave me a better grip on the rifle. I flipped to automatic and let rip until my clip shunted on empty. Frantically now, gunfire echoing in my ears, I pulled another clip from my breast pocket, dumped the useless one, rammed home its fresh replacement and held the sight to my squinting eye.
Panting, partly from fatigue but mostly due to fear, I waited for the sound of my own shots to dissipate. The stench of gunpowder filled the passage, as did swirling dust stirred up by the concussion and dozens of strikes on plastered walls. There, just beyond the kitchen, at the far end of the corridor, lay my third victim of the day.
I’m officially a serial killer, was the absurd thought than ran through my head.
Rather them dead than me.
I let go a long sigh of relief.
That was when the screaming began.
*
Automatic fire in his direction came in short, disciplined bursts. Terry realised he would be pinned down unless he could take out at least two of these aggressors. He had selected an M16 carbine for one specific reason – a grenade launcher could easily be fitted beneath. Its 40mm shell had been highly effective for him in the past, and although it was a pump action device, like any effective soldier he kept one up the spout. The range was closer than he would have liked, at approximately forty-five metres, but he saw no alternative.
Terry raised the rifle a little higher and fired the grenade. Although the launcher’s chamber was capable of handling a number of different 40mm shells, he only ever kept explosives in his. He struck his target with precision, the blast angry and decisive. No return fire followed the echo of the detonation.
Cautiously, he slipped out of the wooden shed and crept towards the devastation of hollowed-out earth, smoke and flame. Two down amongst it all, brutally torn apart. Cochran glanced towards the area where the tunnel lay. Ran a quick check on himself. A little light-headed, despite having stemmed the flow of blood from his scalp wound. Fatigue, but a way to go before exhaustion took a grip. He was good to go. But needed to end it soon.
No time for caution, Cochran entered the tunnel as fast as he was able to move in the cramped conditions. Made his way along to the central spoke, took the steps up towards the house two at a time. In the narrow confines of the shaft the gunfire had sounded like bombs going off. As he emerged from the trapdoor into the house once more, the sound died away.
The loudest silence filled his ears.
Followed by the loudest of screams.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Her shrieks having subsided, Melissa was now sobbing uncontrollably. Mucus hung from her nose in thin ribbons, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Both hands were clasped around her cheeks as if holding her head in place. ‘They’ve taken her!’ she cried. ‘They took Charlie!’
I put my arms around her to stop her falling, while Terry headed back underground. This time towards the river bridge. I pulled the inconsolable young woman close into my chest, whispering soothing words, knowing they were futile. I stroked Mel’s hair understanding that it could never comfort her.
‘We’ll get her back,’ I said. I closed my eyes, unable to tear my mind away from the thought of Charlie being dragged off, terrified, unable to even call for help. I gulped down some air, fearing I might also start to weep along with her. A shudder ripped through Mel’s bo
dy, starting in her stomach and moving swiftly to her chest. I felt it work its way up through her muscles.
‘We’ll get her back,’ I said again. This time I meant it. Felt it in every fibre of my being. Her convulsions, I knew, were caused by shock and fear. The same sense of overwhelming loss I was also beginning to feel.
Terry reappeared twenty minutes later. Shook his head. He fixed Melissa with a piercing stare. ‘What happened here?’ he demanded to know. ‘How were you two separated?’
I hadn’t thought to ask. Retaining the protective embrace, I pulled back and repeated my friend’s question.
Melissa slowly shook her head, silent at first. Then her voice came in stuttering gasps. ‘I… I thought she would be safe. I locked her in an… and came looking for you two. I grabbed a g… un. I wanted to help. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Her knees buckled and she sank to her haunches. I moved with her. Looked up at Terry and shook my head. Pulled Melissa tighter and stroked her hair again. I felt I had to guard against her becoming catatonic with grief and remorse. That’s what it was, in my mind. No question. She blamed herself completely. Always would, no matter what the outcome.
The thought gave steel to my earlier resolve. We would rescue Charlie. No matter what the cost.
I brought Mel to her feet. ‘Come on,’ I whispered. ‘Let’s get you to a sofa and lie you down. I’ll make you a hot, sweet drink.’
‘No! We have to go after them. We have to get Charlie back.’
‘And we will. We will. I promise you. But we can’t go charging off half-cocked, Mel. Terry and I need to talk about how we’re going to handle this now. You need to calm yourself, rest up. We need you with us, Mel. We need you there for Charlie when we find her. And she’ll need you at your best.’
But Terry was shaking his head. He stepped closer to intervene. ‘We have no time for that, Mike. Much of the gunfire was suppressed, but some of it wasn’t and the explosions certainly weren’t. Out here, the sound would have carried miles. Someone will have reported it. We need to be out of this place when the police eventually show up.’
Scream Blue Murder Page 24