Recoil

by Andy McNab

  I wanted one row of bags right along the back wall, then another on top of that. I wanted a chain reaction. They needed to be packed tight so they had contact with each other – but not too tight. Compress the mix too much and it won’t detonate.

  Crucial turned up with two gunners as the first of the bags were laid. There was so much link dangling round their necks, it probably weighed more than they did. They carried the guns by the handle and their shoulders drooped under the weight.

  There was no longer a smile on Crucial’s face, just lots and lots of sweat. He had a coating of white froth round his mouth. I wasn’t the only one in need of fluid. ‘They’ll cover both ways on the approach routes,’ he said, in his high-pitched voice. ‘If they start firing, you get straight back into the valley and leave them to it. That OK? I’ll take over.’

  ‘What about metal? We need shed-loads.’

  He turned away and rattled off a set of instructions in French at the departing gunners. ‘Don’t worry. It’s coming. I’ll be with you. Just sort things out here, man, and I’ll do the rest.’

  The air was thick with grunts and groans from the beetles as they humped and sited their heavy loads. I’d arranged a row of eight bags along the bottom, then another of eight on top, and finally one of six. It looked like I was going to be able to pack in another three rows in front.

  Fair one. Crucial was right: I should worry about my patch, and let him worry about his.

  5

  I waited until the last four or five bags had been hauled up the bank and deposited in the cave. There must have been a total of forty or more in the stack by now, enough to bring down the House of Commons. The ANFO boys were busy making another batch for the other side so maybe we had enough to take down Westminster Abbey while we were at it.

  I opened the box of HE. That wasn’t what the Chinese were calling it, but it sent a message everyone could understand. The moment the lid was lifted, the pungent smell of marzipan filled the air and made my head swim even more.

  British PE4, or the American equivalent C4, was non-toxic and odour-free, but this stuff, churned out by Chinese or Eastern European factories, didn’t piss around: it gave the user the mother of all headaches. It was also vulnerable to shock, and could be detonated if just a stray high-velocity round slammed into it. Even an RPG round detonating within a foot or two would send out enough of a shockwave to kick it off. Not good if you were trying to drop a suicide-bomber and were no good at head shots – but it went bang, and that was all I needed.

  I lifted out the first of three greenish, one-kilo slabs. The moment it made contact with the nicks and cuts in my hands it stung like a swarm of bees.

  I kneaded the green lump to get it warm and pliable, and after a minute or so it was the consistency of Playdoh. I rolled it into a rough ball and chopped my stiff fingers into it until it looked a bit like a freshly opened Terry’s chocolate orange.

  I reached for the reel of det cord. It was filled with a different kind of high explosive. I didn’t know what it was, or who had made it. I just hoped it would initiate the ball of HE I was going to shove into the ANFO. Western det cord came in rolls of 150–200 metres, but I didn’t have a clue how much I had here. It looked like more.

  I tied a whole load of knots in the free end until I’d built up a nice big chunky lump to jam into the middle of the HE. Then I squeezed the ball of HE round it and put it to one side. I worked my hand between the bags and wedged it into the back layer. Gathering some slack from the reel, I wrapped a loop of det cord round one of the bags at the front of the pile to anchor it. I didn’t want a tug on the cord to dislodge the knotted end from the ball. I checked the loop carefully. Like water down a garden hose, if the initiation travelled along the det cord and hit a kink, it sometimes decided not to carry on. The energy of the detonation had to flow freely throughout.

  I walked backwards out of the dugout, unreeling cord behind me until I reached my AK. I added it to the box of HE under my arm and stumbled back across the valley entrance.

  I spotted Crucial and gave him a shout. ‘I need guys with shovels, mate.’ I tried to mime a gravedigger with all the shit still in my arms. ‘Get them up here!’

  I unreeled more cord and checked for kinks as I went to find another claymore position.

  6

  There were a couple of bursts of gunfire in the middle distance as Crucial turned up, bringing half a dozen miners with shovels, hammers and pissed-off expressions. They weren’t too excited about the idea of losing their tools, but I explained what I wanted and left him to it.

  The sangars had been stood down now that Sam had carried out his checks. You can’t maintain maximum awareness for ever. They had to stay in position, but not in ready-to-fire. That didn’t stop me shouting up to the high ground ahead, though, to make sure they knew I was coming their way.

  I closed my grit-coated eyes for a few seconds as I unreeled more det cord. It felt great. I could have kept them like that for hours.

  When I opened them again, I saw Tim striding towards the valley entrance. Where the fuck did he think he was going?

  ‘Tim! Tim!’

  He didn’t stop, just looked across at me and pointed beyond the newly dumped ANFO bags.

  ‘Stop! Don’t go there. Stop!’

  He kept going, and shouted, ‘Nuka.’

  He passed the ANFO, reached the track and turned left along the river. The guys in the sangars watched him as if he was mad – which he probably was.

  ‘Tim, wait! Wait, wait, wait!’

  I dropped the reel and box and broke into a run. As if to underline my point, there was a rattle of automatic fire from the other side of the river. It was distant, but not distant enough for my liking.

  I screamed his name.

  Finally he stopped. His shirt was drenched in sweat and his chest heaved with the exertion.

  I crashed my way towards him.

  ‘I have to go back, Nick. I have to fetch more supplies. I know what’s going to happen. I’ll need my bag.’

  I shook my head. ‘They’re too close. They’re going to hit us soon. Last light, it’ll all kick off.’

  ‘I’ll have to take that chance.’ He wiped sweat from his face with the back of his hand, then moved off.

  I kept up with him, and had to shout over the roar of the river. ‘Listen, mate, sorry about fronting you earlier on. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have done it.’

  He slipped and landed on his knees. ‘Fronting? What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ I went down with him, making myself a smaller target.

  He nodded his thanks. ‘How is she? The diamond-toothed guy said you were back.’

  ‘She’s fine, twisted her ankle.’

  Relief showed on his face. ‘I told her she should have stayed in Lugano, sorted things out with you before coming here. I hope it works out between you two.’ He smiled at me, got back on his feet and walked on.

  I followed. ‘What about you?’

  He stopped and faced me. Gunfire rattled the far side of the river. ‘Nick, I wouldn’t do anything to harm her. Anything.’ He looked along the path. ‘I must get my bag. You should go back and do whatever you’ve got to do. I’ll be fine.’

  I put out a hand before he could leave. ‘One last thing, mate . . . Stefan. He the middle man for this mine?’

  He seemed amazed that I didn’t know. ‘When it comes to death, corruption and suffering, Stefan has never been far away.’

  I turned back. Fucking hell. It wasn’t only Silky I knew so little about. Had Stefan been phoning Standish? And what about the Chinese? Did they let Stefan control the mine and not worry what the fuck happened here as long as they were getting casseritite by the shipload?

  And if Tim knew, so did Silky.

  It looked like I’d have the opportunity to talk to her about it sooner rather than later. As I turned into the valley, there she was, hobbling round a mound a few metres in front of the bags of ANFO, nursing her
foot, her face tight with anxiety. ‘Tim! Where is he going?’

  7

  ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get down!’

  ‘Where’s Tim going?’

  ‘Get into cover!’

  I grabbed hold of her and dragged her back between the ANFO and the mound. She tried to protect her leg, but her anguished face showed it wasn’t happening.

  ‘He’s gone to get some gear. He won’t be long.’

  ‘To Nuka? Why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you go with him?’ She couldn’t disguise her horror as she stared in the direction of the river. ‘They’ll be here any minute! I heard Sam say so.’

  ‘He’s a grown man. I told him to stay here, but he wouldn’t. His call. Everyone’s responsible for their own actions.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go with him, protect him?’

  ‘He knew I had to come back here and help with the defences, or none of us will get out alive.’ I pointed in the direction of her Nuka contingent. ‘Including that lot.’

  ‘You know a lot about the jungle, don’t you?’

  ‘Now’s not the time . . .’ Now wasn’t the time to talk about anything, even though I had some questions myself. I got up and looked past the ANFO for Crucial. ‘Go back to Sam. I’ll get someone up here to—’

  ‘I’m not going, Nick. I want to know that Tim is safe. Besides, you need me to interpret, don’t you?’

  She could see the cogs turning in my head. ‘You can waste your time arguing with me, or you can get back to whatever you were doing. I’ll help. I want to stay alive too, believe me.’

  She was right. Every second counted. I turned and offered my back once more. Then I grabbed my AK and we headed towards the first claymore.

  Crucial was in the valley, screaming at the miners, getting them to surrender their tools. He wasn’t going for the hearts-and-minds approach. A stream of them was snaking towards the dugout ahead of us, laden with picks, hammers, pots, pans, ladles, all sorts of shit.

  We got to the claymore. ‘OK, work for your ride. Tell them to start stacking the tools in the dugout. Tell them to pack them in tight, all the way up to the roof. And tell them not to touch the brown cord coming out of the mud.’

  ‘Brown cord?’

  ‘It’s the detonation cord. Just tell them not to touch it, OK?’

  She relayed my message. They still weren’t happy bunnies.

  ‘Tell them they’ll get new ones later on. Right now, every bit of metal counts.’

  We got down into cover. My head was tilted so I could see the dugout to my right. I didn’t bother checking the time because it really didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter until it was last light. All I could do was get these things rigged up as soon as possible.

  She was just below me, by my feet, tucked well away. I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open.

  I lifted my sleeve to check the boil-like bite on my forearm. It was pussed up, with a hard disc round the base the size of a 50p piece. I was dying to squeeze it, scratch it, do any fucking thing to it. It would make me feel better if I lanced it, but I knew that was a shortcut to infection. Better to keep the seal intact. I rubbed my face gently, pleased the lump hadn’t become another pus-filled volcano, waiting to erupt.

  I lay on my front with my arms folded in front of me as a chin rest, and watched things take shape.

  Silky shouted directions as the guys arrived at the site; they couldn’t wait to dump their metal and get back to the safety of the valley.

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘What?’

  Her expression had changed. ‘Tell me about the jungle. Tell me about the bomb you were making. Tell me about you. I think I have a right to know, don’t you?’

  I kept my eyes on the dugout. ‘I was going to tell you in Lugano, but . . . Well, it never seemed the right time. Maybe I was scared you’d go off me.’

  ‘One thing is certain in this very crazy world.’ She smiled up at me. ‘That will never happen.’

  8

  I told her what it was like being a kid in a London housing estate with a stepdad who slapped me and my mother about. I told her about getting arrested and put in Borstal, and joining the army at sixteen as a way out. Then getting into the SAS, and eventually working for the Firm. How it’d fucked me over time and again, until I’d finally binned it – only to let the Americans take over where the Brits had left off.

  The words poured out of me like water from a hose that had just been unkinked. ‘I did all the shit jobs no one in their right mind would take on in the first place, or no one was willing to take responsibility for if they went wrong.’ I laughed at my own naïvety. ‘I was paid cash – I didn’t even have a bank account, let alone a life.’

  ‘Why let yourself be used like that, Nick?’ Her expression told me she didn’t understand. How could she? She’d always been lucky enough to see things through the correct end of the telescope.

  I looked back at the dugout as more shit was packed into it. ‘It was all I’d ever known, I guess.’ I shrugged. ‘It was the way things were – like the kids the other side of the river, waiting to be told to come and kill us. But finally – finally – I woke up and walked away.’

  ‘To Australia?’

  ‘Yes.’ When I looked down, her eyes were welling.

  ‘So we were both in Australia to run away?’ She gave me a sad smile.

  I slid down level with her.

  ‘This mine . . .’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘These poor people living like this. It’s because of Stefan.’

  I put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Tim told me.’ At that moment I didn’t care who the fuck owned what, where, or why. Being with her was all I cared about.

  She grabbed a small lump of red rock from the ground, and examined it as though she’d picked up a lump of dog shit by mistake.

  ‘I know what it is, Silky. I know what it’s for.’

  She let it drop to the ground. ‘I’ve had a life of luxury because Stefan feeds off these people’s nightmares . . . But coming here, not just sitting in an office and talking about it . . . I’ve realized I mustn’t run away. I have run to something for a change . . . I have to stay here, Nick.’

  ‘Do these guys know who you are?’

  She shook her head. ‘Only Tim. Even Stefan doesn’t know where I am. He probably thinks I’m surfing in Bali, or at a spa.’

  The miners were still dumping tools near the growing stockpile of ANFO for the second claymore. A few were even lugging oil drums, their bodies covered with mud and grime. Their lives were one long round of grit-filled rice and dragging lumps of rock out of the ground with their bare hands. And for what? So we all could enjoy the delights of 3G connectivity?

  She knew all too well what I was thinking. ‘Shitty, isn’t it?’

  Bursts of AK fire filled the air. They came from downstream, towards Nuka.

  9

  There was a third burst and a fourth. The miners screamed and shouted as they ran for cover. GPMGs rattled return fire into the treeline on the far side of the river.

  Crucial barked a command and the guns fell silent. There was probably nothing to fire at, and every round counted.

  Silky looked at me. ‘Tim!’

  I jumped up. ‘Wait here! Bury yourself – don’t move!’

  I checked the other side of the valley and along the riverbank. I saw movement on the ground, maybe thirty metres upstream.

  The body wasn’t crawling. It seemed to be floundering on its back, like an upturned turtle.

  ‘Can you see him, Nick? Is he OK?’

  ‘Can’t see anything. Just wait here, don’t leave cover.’ I grabbed my AK and ran at warp speed across the valley, my tired legs fuelled by adrenalin.

  Crucial was up ahead, sprinting along the left side of the valley wall towards the entrance.

  I screamed at him.

  He looked across and cupped a hand to his ear.

  ‘Covering fire! Man down! We’ve got a man down!’ I thrust my hand
out towards the track as we linked up and took cover. ‘Man down!’

  Crucial brought the two gunners running towards him, link jangling round their necks. Sweat poured off their faces.

  I dived behind the mound. ‘I’ll get him,’ I shouted up at Crucial. ‘You make sure these two don’t kill me in the process, yeah?’

  I waited while Crucial took the two guns forward on the high ground, and positioned them to cover the track and across into the treeline.

  I took deep gulps of air to rev myself up for the run. In the movies, the hero never thinks twice about running into a hail of lead to save someone, but I was close to shitting myself.

  If I’d been stupid enough to run back for Yin, I’d certainly do it for someone Silky cared about. If it was Tim, how could I ever face her again if I didn’t? Besides, it might be me lying in the shit one day, needing to be dragged away.

  I shouted up at Crucial again. ‘Can you see him? He alive?’

  There was silence.

  Crucial’s eventual reply was as calm as if we were doing a spot of bird-watching. ‘It is the Mercy Flight guy. He’s moving, but not much. You know what? I think he’s screaming, but I can’t really hear above the sound of the river.’

  What the fuck did I want to know that for? ‘Are you ready? You got the guns ready?’

  His reply was simple. They opened fire.

  I hesitated a second or so, to check that the rounds weren’t hitting the track, then started running.

  Crucial had it under control. His boys were firing into the treeline. Chunks of ready-made firewood were being blasted off the front row opposite where Tim was lying.

  I got my head down, then slipped and slid my way through the mud towards him.

  10

  I was in a world of my own. My head was empty, my eyes focusing on the man in front of me, lying on his back, arched like he was attempting some weird yoga position. His right leg looked a mess.

  I slid the last few yards like a baseball player going for base. I hit him in the side and he cried out in agony. That was a good sign. He was still feeling pain, and could breathe.