by Chris Ryan
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'That's the point,' he snapped. 'You've done enough for me. I can't let you take any more risks.'
'I can handle myself.'
Josh stood up. 'You've no idea how bloody dangerous this is going to be. I don't know how many men are coming to get us tomorrow. Five, six, maybe a dozen. How the hell can I tell? I've got one pistol, some home-made landmines, and a teenage boy who's never been closer to combat than a game on his PlayStation. My chances? Pretty bloody miserable.'
'Then why are you doing it?'
'I've no choice.'
Kate tossed back her mane of red hair. 'Everyone has a choice.'
'I'm a soldier. We don't have choices. We have orders.'
'Your orders were to shoot Luke and Ben.'
'I have my own orders -- those are the ones I follow,' said Josh. 'My orders are that I keep my word to Luke. And that I take out Azim, because he is an evil, dangerous man. And I don't care what the Ruperts say. I do it my way.'
'And my way is to stay right here,' said Kate. 'I don't care about the danger -- I want to see it through.'
Josh shrugged. 'I've warned you. It's your decision.' He paused, looking straight into her eyes.'But stay out of danger. I owe you my life. The least I can do is pay that back by keeping you safe.'
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TWENTYSIX
Thursday, June 18th. Dawn.
Josh took a swig from the water bottle, letting the liquid splash over his face. He glanced up at the sky. It was already a blazing, fierce blue, even though it was still only eight in the morning. He glanced anxiously along the main street of Swansea. Empty, as always. Yet in a few hours it would be as full of life as it had ever been. And as full of death as well.
In the past hour, he had walked down the side of the mountain, traversing rough, difficult terrain. Probably no man had walked across it for half a century or more. He surveyed the dirt-track crossroads where Porter-Bell had been told to leave the money if they wanted Luke's software. The place was empty, just as Porter-Bell had promised. The attacks of the past week, used by Luke to communicate with Josh, must have scared the company witless. Perhaps now they just wanted to hand over the money, get the software, and close the whole miserable chapter. After scouting the area tp make sure that it was still empty, Josh pinned a note to a stick and stuck it down in the middle of the crossroads. We'll meet you in Swansea, it said. As soon as you can be there.
As he surveyed the empty town again, Josh ran the plan through his head for the hundredth time. It was eight now. In half an hour the Porter-Bell team would find the note Assuming they had some all-terrain vehicles with them --
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maybe Jeeps, maybe quad bikes, maybe sports bikes - they would be here half an hour later. We should expect them at nine.
Late last night, he'd told Luke to send a public email confirming the time, then another one, encrypted, just to Porter-Bell, changing the meeting time from eight to eight thirty. With any luck, Azim should only intercept the first message, telling them to meet at eight. That way he would be here first -- at eight-thirty. His neck delivered straight into my hands.
Azim gets here in half an hour. We kill him, then the Porter-Bell mob show up. We get the money, give them the software. Job done. Then we get the hell out of here.
Bruton can burn on his own stake, decided Josh. If they want robots for soldiers, they should bloody well build some. From now on, I make my own decisions on how this war should be fought.
'You ready?' said Josh, glancing across at Kate.
She was standing in the shadows of the abandoned hotel, ten yards away, ready to let fall some of the petrol bombs on its roof. 'Ready,' she said firmly.
'When I say so, just get up on the roof, and toss the bombs into the street,' he said. 'Don't worry about aiming, that's not the point. They'll make a big enough explosion to take out anyone who gets in the way. Got that?'
'Got it.'
'You ready?' called Josh, glancing towards Luke. The boy was standing in the doorway of the old sheriff's office, fifteen yards away.
'Hell, man, can't wait,' said Luke.
Josh could hear the bravado in the boy's voice, but he could also see the fear in his eyes. Don't do anything stupid, Josh said silently to himself. Don't be too tough. Combat is bloody frightening, and you have to know when to hide as well as when to fight.
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'Stay alert,' he snapped. 'We're not expecting anyone for at least another twenty minutes. But they may come at any time. The worst thing you can do in any battle is get taken by surprise.'
The stage is set, let the battle rage down,Josh told himself. And if it consumes us all in its fire, then so be it. He fingered the trigger of the Wildey Survivor. If I could change anything, I'd have more guns, he mused. Some assault rifles, a machine gun, some grenades. Maybe a battalion or two as back-up. In the meantime, I'll have to make do with this pistol.
Soldiers don't choose their weapons or their battlefield. If they did, there wouldn't be so many military cemeteries in the world.
A noise. Josh's head spun around. The sound of a distant rumbling, as if thunder was rolling through the sky. He glanced up. The sky was clear. Holding the gun in his hand, he slipped behind the doorway of the hardware store. Some dust drifted down onto his head.
Another noise. Louder this time. A motorbike.
Eight-twenty. There shouldn't be anyone here yet.
Josh listened harder. The rumbling of the machines was maybe a mile away but getting closer all the time. It was a low roar, echoing out across the barren countryside. A f minute away, maybe. Perhaps only thirty seconds.
Azim, decided Josh. It must be him. And this time we meet on equal terms.
The noise of the bikes was getting louder. Josh could almost smell the fumes of their exhausts. He could sense the wheels churning up the dusty ground, and the swirling plumes of black smoke trailing behind them.
Josh slipped out of the doorway and started to move down the main street. He kept close to the wall in case there were any snipers taking up position anywhere in the mountains.
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He was planning to charge the attackers once they were in among the landmines. Kate and Luke would stay back, away from the danger. Maybe we can finish this without involving them at all, he decided. With luck.
'Take cover,' barked Josh towards Kate in the hotel. 'You see anyone you don't like, bomb the fuckers.' Then he glanced at Luke, still waiting in the doorway of the sheriff's office. 'Keep your head down.'
'I'm coming with you,' shouted Luke.
'No, you're bloody not,' snapped Josh.
Luke stepped forward. 'I'm coming,' he insisted.
'Stay where you bloody are,' yelled Josh. 'And that's a fucking order.'
He walked further forward, taking care to keep out of sight, each movement a careful step into the unknown. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his fist as he gripped the Wildey tight. He could also feel his ribcage vibrating as his heart thumped hard against his chest. As he reached the end of the street, he leaned hard against the last fissured stone wall and looked carefully out across into the wilderness that tumbled away from the edge of town.
/'// draw them into the minefield. And let the explosives send them back to whatever hell they crawled out of.
The three bikes arrived on the horizon. The machines were Honda XR650s: big, powerful off-road bikes, with raised handlebars, mud flaps, and huge spiked tyres, designed for cutting through mud and dust. A man weighing at least two-hundred and fifty pounds was sitting on each one. They were clad in leather from head to foot, and had shades pulled down over their eyes and helmets over their heads.
It was strange. They looked like Flatner's men, but whether they were his or Azim's, decided Josh, it didn't matter. Either way the choice was a simple one. / kill them or they kill me.
Fifty yards in front of him, he could hear the bikes halt, a man shouting, then the roar of throttles as the three bikes
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leaped into action again. The first bike was speeding out across the sand, the other two following closely in its wake. Great clouds of dust swirled around the accelerating machines. As he watched the lead biker, Josh could see him drawing a pistol, holding the gun in his right hand and the handlebars of his Honda in his left.
The minefield that Josh and Luke had prepared was twenty feet in front of them.
A shot.The bullet bounced off the stone wall, ricocheting harmlessly away. Josh knew that he'd been seen and kept his head down. The bikes must by now be tracking through the start of the minefield, gliding across it like stones skimming across the surface of a lake.
Nothing.
Christ, thought Josh. If those mines don't work, I'm already dead.
The explosion erupted against the morning sky as Josh looked over the wall. The mine had detonated, the blast shooting up into the innards of the Honda. The front wheel spun upwards, throwing the rider back. Already, the petrol tank was on fire. It would take just a moment for the fuel to react to the flame, blowing the tank and consuming the bike in a deadly fireball.
From every battlefield he'd ever been on, Josh knew that you saw your enemy die before you heard him. He had seen the rider spin into the air, his massive bulk now working against him. He fell heavily beside his machine, the petrol spilling from the tank and cascading over his denim trousers and his thick leather jacket. A hail of sparks was spitting out of the engine. Then Josh heard the second explosion. The wave of noise rocked him backwards. Somewhere from the middle of the inferno Josh could hear the pitiful screams of a man burning to death.
One down. Two to go.
Josh looked from behind the wall. The second bike had
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veered sharply to the right, the third to the left. Josh had planned the minefield precisely, taking into his calculations all the lessons he'd learned in the Army. When you were putting down mines, you placed them to destroy your enemy, sure - but you also worked out that enemy's likely escape route and laid traps for them there as well. The second biker was already learning that lesson as he rode over another mine and triggered another deadly blast. Another fireball. Another scream.
Two down, one to go.
Thick clouds of heavy black smoke were now rising. The third bike was turning in a tight circle, its driver calculating that his best chance lay in riding back the way he'd come. Josh aimed his pistol. Forty yards now separated him from the biker. He fired one bullet, aiming at the biker's spine -- an accurate shot there would paralyse the man instantly. It missed, the bullet hitting the dust harmlessly. Christ, thought Josh. I need practice with this bloody gun. I'm not going to survive many missed shots.
The driver swerved to the left, anxious to avoid the gunfire. Mistake, pal, decided Josh with a grim smile. You're back on hostile ground.
As the third mine blew, the bike skidded. The Honda's front wheel was blown clean off, spinning up into the air. The rider fell from his machine, his hands still gripping the handlebars. Petrol spilled out over his body, and a shower of sparks cascaded across him as the broken and twisted bike rolled over onto him. Flames leaped up all around him, engulfing his legs and torso before flicking across the skin of his face.
'Help me,' shouted the man desperately. 'Please, somebody -- I'm rucking dying here.'
Before today, Josh had only witnessed it once on the battlefield, but there were few worse sights, sounds -- and smells - than those of a man burning to death. You can
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smell the charred flesh, like meat roasting on a spit.You can feel the heat, as the flames curl around the body. And you can hear the terrifying screams, like those of a strangled cat, getting thinner and thinner as the vocal cords slowly get burned away.
'Help me,' the man shrieked desperately, his burning hands trying to push away the bike that was lying across his body.
No way, pal.
Josh started running back towards the town. Let's see what else you can throw at us he exulted inwardly.
Another noise. Racing down the main street, Josh cast his gaze up at the ramshackle roofs of the buildings. A scratching, like that of an animal. Or a man.
'Luke,'Josh hissed towards the sheriff's office.'You there?'
A silence. Josh could feel his heart thumping. 'Luke?' he said, louder this time.
'He's gone.'
Josh spun around. Kate was still standing at the window of The old hotel. He could hear her, but only just see her: she was in the shadow of a pair of shutters hanging loose on their hinges.
'Why didn't you bloody stop him?' shouted Josh.
'With what?' Kate yelled back.
Her voice was raw and desperate. Nothing is going as I'd planned, Josh told himself. Porter-Bell have obviously decided to kill us all. At this rate, they'll succeed.
Josh heard a scratching noise. Then the sound of slate being broken as someone steppe^l on it.
There was just a split second in which to react. A man was descending from the sky. Josh threw himself sideways onto the ground and narrowly managed to avoid being crushed by the man: a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound monster, clad in denim and leather. Josh realised that his spine would have snapped the instant the creature landed on top of him.
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Both of them were lying flat in the dirt. The gun had fallen out of Josh's hand, leaving it out of reach. The man grabbed out, catching hold of Josh's wounded leg. He started pulling, wrenching the bones around Josh's feet. Josh could feel pain searing up through him as the wound reopened. Blood started to leak out into the cloth of his jeans. Now a fist started to pummel Josh's side. The blows were heavy and strong, delivered with pile driving force.
Reaching into his pocket, Josh grasped one of the heavy nails that he'd taken from the hardware store. The steel was rotten and rusty with age, but still sharp at the tip. Holding it in his right hand, Josh gripped hard and sat up sharply. Concentrating his strength into his fist, his slammed the nail hard into his attacker's hand. He could feel the point piercing the skin, then grating against the bone of the knuckle. Josh pushed harder, ignoring the way that the nail was digging into the skin of his own palm. The nail forced itself through the bone, its tip emerging on the other side of the man's hand.
The man screamed in pain, letting go of Josh's foot.
Josh kicked himself free. He ran inside the abandoned hotel. 'The bombs,' shouted Josh, looking up at Kate. 'Throw the bloody bombs at him.'
He could see the fear in her eyes. She started to move but her hands were shaking.
She's frozen. The fear has got to her.
'Throw the fucking bombs,' he shouted, his lungs straining to put as much force as he could into the words.
A tear was smudging her face. He could see that her hand was shaking. She can't do it, Josh told himself. She can't bloody do it.
Josh ran forward. His attacker had struggled to his feet. The man was holding on to his hand. The nail was still sticking through it, and his blood streaked the rust on the spike. His face was covered by a biking helmet and a scarf
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was wrapped around his neck, but Josh could see enough of his skin to tell that he was white, not Arab.
Where the hell is Azim? If these are Flatner's men, where the hell is Azirri?
Josh was standing two yards from the man in the dusty street. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear shouting, more motorbikes. They were now coming into town from other the side. Christ, he told himself. They just keep coming. I need to get rid of this one before his mates arrive.
The man was edging towards him, growling like a bear. Then he lunged forward, putting his full weight behind the blow.
Mistake, pal, thought Josh. You're overcommitted.
The punch narrowly missed Josh's jaw. He danced forwards so that now he was positioned behind the man. Reaching up, he snapped both his arms into a tight coil around the monster's neck. Josh pulled with all his strength. The muscles in his arms we
re screaming with pain as the man struggled to free himself. At two hundred and fifty pounds, he had the strength of a wild bull. A violent belch escaped from the man's gut as Josh pulled tighter, then tighter again. His hands were scrabbling at Josh's arms and his legs were kicking backwards as he tried to loosen Josh's grip. But Josh's lock on his neck was firm, slowly cutting the supply of oxygen to his brain.
It's a McDeath for you, you bastard. Quick, nasty and cheap. ^
Josh had only strangled a man, once before -- during a mission in Afghanistan -- but he knew from his training that the most dangerous moment was just before an opponent died. The oxygen switched off in the brain, yet as the victim lost consciousness they knew that there was just one last chance of saving themselves, and they would throw all their remaining strength into it.
The man gave a horrific choked-off yell, then reared
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back, trying to use the muscles in his massive shoulders to throw Josh off.
Josh was ready for him. He tightened his arms as hard as he could, squeezing the life out of the man. He could feel a last spasm of strength surge through his adversary, then start to ebb. The man's breathing slowed, then stopped. Finally his body slumped to the ground.
Josh started looking around desperately. There was still no sign of Luke. And the remaining bikes were only three hundred yards away.
He picked up his gun from the ground and ran towards the hotel. Kate was still standing mute behind the shutters like a statue, her face pale and drawn. 'I'm sorry,' she stuttered. 'I couldn't ... I couldn't . . .'
'You bottled it,'Josh snapped.
Immediately, he regretted having spoken roughly to her. In the heat of battle, men spoke harshly: he'd been called a million different names in a firefight and shrugged them all off in the mess later. Kate wasn't to know that: this was his territory, not hers. 'It's not your fault,' he said, quickly. 'You're not a soldier. Just take cover and try not to cause any trouble.'
He started moving up the back staircase. The wooden slats were rotten and half the banister had crumbled away. Josh ignored the danger, flinging himself upwards. He could feel the boards flaking into pieces as he trod on them.