Recoil

by Andy McNab

  I picked up the head of a round and placed the two firing-cable wires along it so that they were less than a millimetre apart at the pointed top. I started peeling back the roll with my teeth, then taped the two wires in place. I nestled the round gently among the cordite granules in the untied glove.

  I wrapped the cable tight round the wrist of the glove, then lashed it with tape to make it as waterproof as I could, then laid both gloves on top of the crate, picked up my AK and left.

  I’d say my goodbyes later on.

  PART ELEVEN

  1

  I gave the firing cable a few feet of slack from where it disappeared into the glove, then a couple of turns round my left wrist to prevent it jerking loose, grabbed the plunger, then legged it to Sam’s trench. ‘Here, control this fucking thing.’ I dumped the firing device with the cable still attached. ‘Back soon.’

  I opted for the direct route, a straight line downhill. I could just see the valley floor as a thin arc of dull light appeared above the treeline in the distance.

  I skidded and slid, then fell on my arse and sledged the rest of the way, mud building up fast between my legs. I banged into a rock and fell sideways, but managed to hang on to the AK and the cable, keeping the crate top and gloves tight against my chest.

  I staggered to the full oil drum and leaned against it for a few moments, fighting for breath. There was no time to hang around. I didn’t want to be caught out in the open once the sun was up.

  I dumped the gloves on the crate top and floated it on the surface of the diesel, then unravelled the cable and ran to the store.

  No glimmers of light in here. It was still pitch black.

  I switched on the torch and scanned the floor frantically for slabs of PE. I found two. That was all I needed. Plastic explosive burns. I’d often used half a stick to light a fire, or heat water or food in a mess tin. It’s only dangerous if burned in quantities of more than twenty kilos. Then it generates enough heat to detonate.

  Back at the drum, I sandwiched the gloves between the two slabs of PE, then secured the firing cable at the base of the drum with a rock.

  When I pushed the plunger handle down, the spark from the cable wires would ignite the cordite in the gloves. It would burn like mad for five or six seconds then ignite the HE, which would burn furiously at a very high temperature, incinerating the crate top and igniting the diesel.

  The resulting beacon would burn and belch smoke for hours.

  2

  The band of dull light thickened on the horizon ahead of us. It wouldn’t be long before the sun began to turn the eastern sky blue and work its way towards us.

  All three guns were loaded and ready to go, the spare in the middle. If either of us had a stoppage, we could still keep the rounds going. When the barrel of the malfunctioning gun had cooled, we could deal with it.

  Muzzle flashes sparked up on both sides of the valley entrance. No longer drowned by last night’s storm, the sound of their wild bursts of auto echoed around the hillside.

  Sam got his gun into the shoulder. ‘Here we go.’

  Whether he was speaking to me or himself, I had no idea.

  They were probing us, trying to get us to return fire and give away our positions in the first-light gloom.

  We held back and watched as the eight or so flashes inched slowly but surely into our killing ground.

  Four hundred metres away, and closing.

  They moved, fired, and moved again, deeper into the valley. I began to see movement along with the flashes, then shapes became more distinct. Nearly every one was small.

  They kept firing, kept looking for that response. Rounds from an uncontrolled burst thudded into the ground in front of us. I gave Sam a glance. He shook his head. We’d keep our position covert until we absolutely had to go noisy. Sam would give the order; it was his call.

  3

  Butt in the shoulder. Both eyes open. Finger on the trigger. Just now and again, even though I knew there was no fucking need, I moved my left hand to check the rounds were OK, the sights were at 400, the weapon cocked.

  I took deep breaths, preparing myself.

  Adult voices drifted up to our position, shouting orders in French.

  ‘Like Crucial,’ I muttered. ‘Only deeper.’

  ‘They’re gripping the kids,’ Sam said. ‘Putting the fear of God into them.’

  I saw his hand move, making sure the sight fairy hadn’t come and interfered with them since the last time he’d checked a minute ago.

  ‘Remember, short and sharp for now.’

  A burst of rounds thumped into the knoll no more than a couple of metres from our faces.

  Diminutive figures shuffled towards us in the gloom as the first sliver of orange light peeked over the edge of the valley.

  A hundred and fifty away, and counting.

  ‘OK, stand by . . . short and sharp . . . over their heads.’

  Another couple of rounds pounded into the mud and Sam finally kicked off.

  I squeezed my trigger in three- to five-round bursts. The single tracer round in each arced well over the muzzle flashes and on towards the valley entrance.

  My bursts were a bit slow: I’d adjust the gas regulator when I had the chance.

  We put down maybe twenty rounds each then stopped and looked. They’d returned fire at nothing in particular, but now ran back towards the river.

  They’d found out what they needed to know. They’d be back.

  4

  The gas regulator on a GPMG is located beneath the barrel. As a round is propelled by the expanding gases, it controls the pressure with which the working parts are pushed back to load and fire its successor. The less gas that’s allowed to pass through the regulator, the slower the rate of fire.

  I turned the metal dial until it was fully closed, then counted back six clicks. That should give me a good 800 rounds a minute; any more and it would be hard to control. When these fuckers came back, it would be in strength. I wanted as many rounds as possible to land in the weapon’s beaten zone from now on.

  ‘Silky, Tim and the boy. We’ve got to get them into cover, Sam. They can take my trench.’

  He nodded and scrambled towards the tent while Crucial kept covering. I grabbed my AK and spare mags and followed.

  There was no argument. Silky started gathering their gear while Sam grabbed the bottom end of the cot and I took the head. ‘One, two, three – up.’ We lifted Tim and the boy and started to shuffle them out.

  We lowered them into the backblast channel with a bump that made the boy cry out. Good, he was still breathing, still feeling pain.

  ‘That’s me back on the gun,’ Sam said. ‘Quick as you can.’

  I shoved the AK at Tim. ‘You know how to use one of these?’

  He managed a smile. ‘I’ve been here long enough.’

  I lobbed the two extra mags on to the cot. ‘Just in case.’

  He checked the safety lever, not as fluently as one of us three would, but he knew what he was doing and that was good enough.

  The injured boy wasn’t happy at all. He stared at the weapon, transfixed, as terrified as if it was aimed at his head.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with this from down here, Nick?’

  ‘If the shit hits the fan, Silky’ll have to drag you up into the backblast channel.’

  Tim laid the weapon the other side of the boy. ‘Nick . . .’

  I stayed where I was for a moment. ‘Yep?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Just thanks.’

  Silky hobbled out of the tent. I jumped out and grabbed her hand. ‘Drop the gear.’

  I dragged her towards Sam’s trench and pointed to the plunger. ‘When I give the word, untwist the handle, pull it up, then push down for all you’re worth, OK?’

  High-velocity cracks sounded ahead and to the right of us.

  ‘Get in the trench! In the trench!’

  Crucial was already bellowing orders to his tw
o teams. I gave her a shove, and jumped in next to Sam. ‘You see ’em? Up on the lip there?’

  He was still aiming down the valley. ‘Hold your fire.’

  Two RPGs kicked off almost vertically into the air, and even this far from Crucial’s trench I could feel the warmth of the backblast on my face. A cloud of acrid smoke engulfed us and my nostrils filled with burned propellant.

  Crucial was already legging it to Sunday and the Chuckle Brothers as the rounds dropped and soft-detonated. Anyone below them would have been blasted with shrapnel.

  Butt back in the shoulder, both eyes open, I watched the valley as the next two RPGs kicked off in quick succession.

  5

  The RPGs weren’t slowing the rate of fire coming from the lip. Rounds ripped into the mud around us. They were a fire group, trying to pin us down so the rest could attack from the front.

  ‘The phone!’ I screamed to Sam. ‘Give me the phone!’

  He whacked it into my outstretched hand, his weapon never leaving the shoulder.

  I ripped off the Prudence and powered it up.

  The sky in the distance was about to turn blue, but behind us it was still dark. I crouched further into the trench, finger in my ear, but still kept my head above the parapet.

  The phone was answered and I heard the drone of engines. ‘It’s kicking off here, mate. We need you.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes. How’s the cloud cover?’ He sounded like he was putting in a routine request to land.

  ‘Clearing.’ More rounds came down from the lip and slammed into the mud on either side of us. I had to shout to be heard. ‘Fifty per cent visibility and clearing. You still coming in east?’

  ‘Straight up the arse, man.’

  ‘The beacon will be a burning oil drum, just like the ones at the airstrip, OK?’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘We’re at the west end of the valley – repeat, anything west of the marker is us, OK?’

  ‘Roger that. What am I hitting?’

  ‘A fire group on the southern lip of the valley – that’s your port as you approach. Roger so far?’

  ‘Roger that.’

  The engine noise was drowned as two more RPGs kicked off.

  ‘We’re waiting for the main attack, probably from the valley entrance – four hundred east of the marker. They’ll be moving up the valley. Roger so far?’

  ‘Roger that. What are they carrying, man? Anything I need to know about?’

  ‘We’re taking small arms, no RPGs yet. No light or heavy guns. The only tracer so far is ours.’

  ‘Roger that.’ His tone was still completely relaxed. No wonder he’d survived in this business so long. ‘OK, I’m coming. Just make sure I can see that marker, man. I need something to get me on line. Wait out.’

  I was putting the sat phone down when he screamed, ‘Nick! Nick! Did you get Standish? You tell him what I said?’

  ‘Yes – and more.’

  ‘Roger that, be there in fifteen.’

  Sam yelled, ‘Here we go!’

  He fired a long burst, fifteen plus, into the beaten zone as bodies poured into the valley.

  More fire came from the high ground, covering the assault group. A pair of RPGs kicked off to our right and I saw Crucial sprinting to the other trench.

  ‘Silky!’ I yelled, so loud even the LRA would have heard me. ‘The plunger! Push the plunger!’

  I looked down into the valley and waited, but nothing happened.

  ‘Silky! Hit the fucking plunger!’

  I got more rounds down, then saw the cordite spark up in the gloves, and finally the slabs, burning like big fuck-off sparklers.

  ‘Come on . . . come on . . .’

  A couple of seconds later, the diesel ignited.

  6

  I aimed down into the valley entrance and squeezed off twenty rounds as more bodies streamed through. There must have been two hundred of the fuckers swarming towards us, ghatted up and wanting to kill everything in their way.

  My right hand was on the pistol grip; my left gripped the phone tight against the butt so the display was almost in my eye. I fired another burst. My face juddered as the working parts slammed backwards and forwards 800 times a minute. My ears rang.

  Tracer floated down into the killing area and the rounds spread out into their beaten zone.

  I adjusted fire slightly left and squeezed the trigger again. Bodies dropped, but the wave kept coming. I now had to squint against the sun that had just tipped the horizon.

  Crucial screamed and two more RPGs kicked off, flying towards the fire group. The knoll was shrouded in a cloud of backblast smoke that mirrored the black diesel fumes belching sky-wards from the drum.

  My link was coming to an end. I grabbed another belt and it snaked from the ammo box. I attached it to the last few rounds still on the gun, and carried on firing.

  Sam grabbed the spare gun. ‘Stoppage! Stoppage!’

  He slammed back the cocking handle and squeezed the trigger. His head jerked in unison with the working parts, as if he was having a fit.

  I fired another long burst and felt the heat of the weapon wash over my face and hands. Crazed screams and shouts rolled ever closer.

  Most of them were kids. I tried to focus to keep my mind on range and keeping a good sight picture as they ran forward and I cut them down.

  I saw green. The LED on the phone was glowing.

  I pressed receive as another two RPGs kicked off and Sam’s gun thundered alongside me. I crouched down in the trench and jammed a finger in my other ear.

  ‘Nearly there, man.’

  7

  I yelled into the phone, ‘The diesel’s burning. A big fuck-off column of smoke. Where are you?’

  Nothing.

  I scanned the skyline, hoping to see wings, fuselage, a pair of reverberating 23mms – but the sun was still too low.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Shut up, man. I’m concentrating . . .’

  Lex would be searching the western horizon, looking for the marker before he adjusted his bearing.

  ‘OK, got it, I see it. You still want me to hit the lip – or that fucking LRA tsunami coming up the valley? I don’t have an ammo store in the back. It’ll be one or the other.’

  ‘The lip – take out the fire group.’

  ‘Coming in. Stand by.’

  I heard him talk to the gunner on his intercom as I sprang back up. I hoped the fucker had steered clear of the wacky-baccy this time round.

  ‘Cease fire!’ I yelled over to Crucial. ‘No more RPGs! Lex is coming in!’

  Bodies kept pouring into the valley to bolster the assault wave and we kept hosing down the front of it.

  Bodies fell. Some ran in panic, but most kept on coming.

  A new sound filled the air. Lex was ahead of us at about 400, the glass bubble on the nose moving from right to left. The wings dipped as he turned and lined up on the lip, then there was a rattle and a roar as the pair of 23mm cannon kicked off like Gatling guns.

  Red tracer poured down from Donald Duck’s bill like molten steel spilling from a blast furnace.

  8

  Small volcanoes of mud erupted into the air with the impact of the rounds, and bodies tumbled from the high ground. Survivors ran for cover. There was no more firing.

  I grabbed the phone. ‘On target, on target! The LRA have advanced three hundred since you fired.’

  I spun back towards the valley, adjusted my sights to 300, the minimum setting, and aimed a little low. I was feeling more confident with every burst, until I heard Crucial yell.

  ‘Contact rear! Contact rear!’

  He’d swung through one-eighty with his AK and was firing behind.

  We had the runners from the fire group streaming down from the high ground.

  Sam jerked his head round and assessed. ‘I’ll keep forward – you take them, you take them!’

  I grabbed my gun by the carry handle and swung it round on to the edge of the backblast channel. Ther
e must have been twenty, thirty of them coming down the hill at us, forty metres away and closing.

  I squeezed off short, sharp bursts. Some went down but the rest kept coming.

  The first wave screamed on to the flat of the knoll, no more than twenty away, so close I could hear the squelch of mud under their feet.

  They dropped their empty weapons, and pulled gollocks.

  9

  The biggest, ugliest of the front runners zeroed in on me like removing my head from my shoulders was his only mission in life. I fired from point-blank. He was so close, I almost had to kneel to get the elevation up to him.

  His mud-splattered face was set in a frenzied snarl as he raised his blade.

  I gave him a big burst and his gollock clattered into the fire trench. His blood gushed over my face as he buckled over the gun barrel and started to sizzle.

  Sam turned to back Crucial as I heaved the body off the gun and tipped him into the mud. His flesh smelled like scorched crackling.

  There was another blur of movement from my left. I dipped down to grab Sam’s AK and snapped back up in the aim.

  A rope flailed behind his leg as he ran.

  ‘Sunday! Stop!’

  Crucial had a stoppage and dropped from view to change mags.

  Sam stepped up his fire.

  I flicked the safety lever down and fired the whole magazine to cover the boy as he ran in blind panic towards the track.

  Finally, out of ammo, I dropped the weapon and scrambled out of the trench after him.

  10

  The LRA coming up the valley were so close I could make out which football clubs they supported, and tell the men from the boys. But I couldn’t let Sunday go. I couldn’t let the poor little fucker slip through my hands.

  It took just a few strides to catch him up behind Silky’s fire trench and jump on to his back. We both fell into the mud.

  He scrabbled and bucked to get free, screaming in panic as rounds pinged over our heads. I pinned him by the shoulders, got hold of his wrists, and dragged him towards Silky.