by Andy McNab
‘Three minutes, Nana. Hang on in there.’
‘I am now going to expose those murdering and corrupt politicians to the people of Georgia . . .’
Her eyes flickered to the sky.
I hadn’t heard anything inside the van, but the arse-lickers had; they ran outside and stared into the clouds.
Nana went for it. ‘Gogi Shengelia . . . Mamuka Asly . . .’
Akaki was on his feet, his expression thunderous. He swept the camera aside and charged through the barn doors.
Nana kept on going.
‘Giorgi Shenoy . . . Roman Tsereteli . . .’
The moment I stepped out of the van I could hear the beat of rotors. The helis must have stayed in dead ground until the last possible moment.
Akaki waved his arm and barked a sequence of orders. The arse-lickers tumbled into their Taliwagon. Akaki lifted his AK.
Nana was on autopilot.
‘Kote Zhvania . . . Irakli Zemularia . . .’
The Hueys were virtually overhead. Akaki tried to bring his AK into his shoulder, only to be buffeted by the downwash.
The fourth Taliwagon screamed to a halt alongside him and the arse-lickers pulled him aboard. The heli dipped its nose and headed for the field just to the side of the barn.
Nana was shaking. ‘There will be full exposure of all Zurab Bazgadze’s allegations in a special edition of 60 Minutes soon. Now back to the studio.’
She dropped the mike to her side. By the time Paata had wrapped her in his arms, her whole body was convulsed with sobs.
‘Nana? We have to go.’
She looked over his shoulder at me. ‘I’ll help you, Nick. I’ll help you with the police.’
I shook my head. ‘No time for all that stuff. I’m taking Charlie home; there’s something he’s got to do.’
She shook her head, not understanding. ‘What can be more important than wanting to prove your innocence?’
‘Having the chance to die with your family around you . . .’
Charlie came up alongside me. ‘See that treeline, lad?’ He pointed to the slope behind the barn. ‘Last one there buys the kebabs.’
5
I looked through the slats. Four Hueys were touching down in the field a hundred metres away. BDU-clad bodies leaped out and took up fire positions.
Paata was out of the van, dragging the camera from its mount, ripping out all the leads. He extended the small antenna that would maintain the link with the satellite dish and keep the feed live.
There was the rattle of automatic gunfire from the high ground to our right. Akaki’s crew were putting down fire from the village.
The helis’ engines roared and they lifted sharply. The guys on the ground spun around like headless chickens. It was like watching Kazbegi all over again.
One or two shots came from the field as the BDUs began to engage. I hoped they were aimed up at the village and not towards us.
Paata rushed outside, camera on his shoulder, Nana by his side.
I grabbed Charlie. ‘Well?’
He looked at me but didn’t answer.
I ran to the barn doors. ‘Nana! Nana!’
She indicated to Paata what she wanted filmed.
‘Nana!’
She turned back and I mimed the cut-away sign, finger across my throat.
The helis thundered overhead, eager to get out of the contact zone.
‘Go!’ she screamed. ‘Go!’
She turned away and got on with her job.
I skirted round the side of the barn, Charlie following at a hobble.
We scrambled up to the treeline, using the building as cover, and then turned back towards the village, paralleling the road. We had a bird’s-eye view of the chaos below us. BDUs milled around in the field, trying to take cover, not sure where. Maybe they hadn’t got to page two of the textbook yet.
American voices tried in vain to command and control as one-in-four tracer burned down from the militants’ light machine guns, thudding into the grass around their students.
One long burst arced down from the rooftops, scattering earth around the BDUs. They had no choice but to keep moving and get the fuck off the open ground.
Nana crouched against the woodpile outside the barn, talking to camera as the contact went on behind her. Paata panned across the sky as the whirl of rotor blades sounded from the high ground behind the barn.
The Huey was really close, coming in low, and swept over our heads, banking into a steep climb over the field then breaking right, towards the village. The crew were trying to get some kind of fix on the attackers.
Another burst of tracer forced the heli to bank sharp left and disappear back into the dead ground.
Charlie slowed. I grabbed his arm, hooked it over my shoulder, and dragged him along. I slipped in the mud, finally bringing both of us down.
Charlie landed on top of me. ‘Any chance of a breather, lad?’
We lay where we had fallen, trying to catch our breath.
Another sustained burst from above us echoed around the valley. This time there was return fire; the boys in the field had finally got their act together.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Why aren’t those fuckers up there just running for it? Do they really want to take on the army? They all escaped from the same asylum as Koba?’
I dragged him to his feet. Before long, wooden houses began to appear alongside the road below us.
Charlie stopped. ‘Listen, lad . . . No helis. Must have gone for reinforcements. Now’s our chance.’
6
A tractor and an old Lada sat abandoned at the side of the track, but nothing that looked as though it might get our soaked arses out of here at any sort of speed, even if we could have dodged the militants to our right, and half the Georgian army down below us to our left.
The whole place fell eerily quiet.
‘What about the Taliwagons?’
A burst of automatic echoed round the village before I could answer.
‘Fuck it, let’s go.’ Charlie slid downhill and broke free of the treeline. I followed. He was making for a cluster of small wooden houses that hugged the main drag.
We edged into an unfenced yard and flattened ourselves against the back wall. All the shutters were closed. I heard a frightened child whimper behind them.
Squaddies at the bottom of the road loosed off with their AKs. From higher up, to our right, Akaki’s men gave it back in spades. The barrels of their light machine guns must have been red hot.
A round ricocheted off the wall beside us and screamed up into the air.
I tugged Charlie’s sleeve. ‘Wait here, old one.’
Keeping low, I moved to the corner of the house. A dog started barking inside.
My hair was flat against my head. My trousers were caked in mud. My clothes stuck to me like clingfilm. I was just beginning to realize how hungry and thirsty I was.
I checked Baby-G. We had an hour and a bit until last light, maybe less, given the cloud cover.
I lay down on my stomach, and inched my way along the wall until I could see up and down the road. It was deserted. The villagers were keeping well out of this. I didn’t blame them a bit.
The road stumbled uphill for about a hundred metres before disappearing. The militants’ fire position must have been just beyond the bend. They’d chosen well. They had a clear line of fire all the way down into the valley where the helis had landed.
An American voice barked instructions about 200 to my left and BDUs darted around in response. Nana and Paata would probably be in among them as they pushed uphill, but we weren’t going to stick around and find out.
I made my way back to Charlie. He had his leg elevated against the back wall, rain falling onto his face. ‘The squaddies are getting close.’ I held out a hand. He grabbed it and I pulled him up. ‘I didn’t see Akaki’s crew, but they must be past the bend, a hundred up. We need to get up there and beyond their line. We’ll stay behind the houses.’
‘Well
done, lad. So what are we hanging about for?’
I hooked his arm over my shoulder and we started to pick our way through a succession of unfenced back yards.
We’d gone another eighty or ninety metres when the houses veered left with the road. Another twenty or thirty and we’d be well beyond the line of fire.
We hit a fenced compound filled with pigs. It wasn’t worth the effort of getting Charlie over the top. We doubled back up the slope and boxed around it. It all took time, and I didn’t know how much of that we had to spare. The road might not be the squaddies’ only axis of attack. The last thing we needed was to be caught in crossfire.
As we worked our way down again, the militants opened up with their light machine guns.
‘Poor little buggers,’ Charlie muttered. ‘Talk about baptism of fire.’
‘Shut up and get moving.’
I stopped, head up.
‘Listen.’
The firing had come from behind us. We were beyond the contact.
All we had to do now was drop down into the village and see about hot-wiring ourselves some freedom.
7
We emerged beside what looked like the village hall. There must have been an election in the last year or so; the walls were plastered with fading campaign posters. A line of Zurab Bazgadzes beamed down at us.
‘Our carriage awaits, lad.’
ATaliwagon sat just thirty metres away in the middle of the road. It was rusty and dented, but had four wheels and, with any luck, an engine. Best of all, there seemed to be no-one with it.
‘You ready, mate?’
He nodded.
I started running without checking he was behind me.
There was no movement, but the village was far from deserted. Shouts and a burst of automatic blazed from the other side of some buildings to my left, down towards the road.
I headed for the driver’s side and flung open the door.
No keys.
I rummaged around in the glove compartment, the foot well, the door pockets. They were under the seat.
I jumped in and hit the ignition. The warm diesel fired first time.
I heard a shout to my right, and it wasn’t Charlie.
An Akaki lookalike in a poncho glistening with rainwater was sheltering in a doorway no more than three metres away. His eyes were wide with shock. He came to his senses, dropped the handful of medical supplies he’d been holding, and went for his RPK.
The weapon swung up, almost in slow motion.
He looked beyond me and shouted again, but I shouted louder. ‘Charlie!’
I hunched forward, praying that he’d bounce onto the back before I got sawn in half.
There was a blur of bodies and muzzle flash. The light machine gun jerked and sprayed a short burst into the air, then weapon and owner disappeared under Charlie’s flailing body.
I leaped out and took a running kick at the militant’s head.
My boot connected and Akaki’s mate cried out.
Charlie rolled to one side and grabbed the weapon, and I kicked again. Charlie staggered to his feet and leaned over him, jamming the barrel into his chest. ‘Get his mags, Nick! Get his mags!’
I lifted the poncho. The RPK was basically an AK-47 with a longer, heavier barrel and a non-detachable folding bipod mounted under the muzzle. It could be fed from special box or drum magazines, but also the familiar curved AK-type thirty-round mags. This boy had two of them in a chest harness. I pulled them free and we both legged it into the wagon.
I sawed at the wheel to aim the Taliwagon uphill, away from the square. The fuel gauge gave us just over half a tank.
Charlie pulled back on the cocking handle of the RPK to check there was a round in the chamber. Then he unclipped the mag and pressed his finger down on the top round to see how many were left.
‘What you doing, lad?’
‘Pointing us at Turkey.’
‘No.’ He put a hand on the wheel. ‘Akaki first.’
‘We don’t have time for that.’
His hand didn’t budge. ‘Akaki.’
Fuck it. ‘Just one pass, that’s all you’re getting.’
I threw the wagon into four-wheel and dropped the clutch, swinging us round until we faced the other way. My foot hit the floor.
The poncho had staggered to his feet but now had to dive back into the doorway to get out of the way.
I drove hard for the other side of the square before swinging the wheel right to head downhill. I squeezed the wagon into an alleyway and added a whole new set of dents to its already impressive collection.
We came out into the main drag like a cork from a bottle. The other Taliwagons had pulled in before the bend about 200 metres ahead of us. The militants were putting down a fearsome amount of fire against the BDUs below them. Three bodies lay motionless in the field where the Hueys had landed. The BDUs were still trying to fire and manoeuvre uphill, using the buildings as cover. Now they were closer, Akaki had better targets. Another body lay on the road between them, and I saw a couple of BDUs drag a wounded man into cover just beyond it.
I braked to a halt. Now we were here, I knew Charlie was right. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.
I shoved the wagon into first. ‘It’s one pass, make the most of it.’
He turned his back to me and poked the weapon out of his window, wooden stock resting on the door, butt into his shoulder.
A few faces turned as we moved down the road, then went back to their war.
I accelerated.
Seconds later we were level with Akaki’s crew and Charlie fired short, sharp bursts into anything that moved.
The noise inside the cab was deafening, even with both the windows open, and we were choking on cordite. I tried to keep the wagon as steady as I could. The rounds had to make their spots or we’d get a whole shitload in return.
The bodywork took a couple of crunching thuds as the militants got their act together.
Charlie recocked and got off two short bursts.
‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’
I hit the brake and Charlie took aim at a cluster of three men, one of whom, unmistakably, was Akaki. He legged it while the two others tried to shield him.
Charlie’s weapon fell silent.
‘Stoppage!’
He changed mags, his eyes always on the target as it clambered into the back of a Taliwagon.
‘Wait! Wait!’
He recocked and kept the bursts short and sharp. Akaki’s wagon lurched forward and sped back the way we had come.
I braked hard and threw our Toyota into a three-point turn.
As we closed, their rear screen disintegrated and our windscreen took two rounds. The safety glass shattered but stayed intact.
‘Keep going! Go, go, go!’
Charlie kicked out his side of the shattered windscreen. Shards of glass peppered my face, blown back by the wind. More rounds thudded into the wagon. Fuck it, there was nothing I could do but drive.
Charlie rearranged himself in his seat and shoved the RPK’s muzzle through the hole in the screen. Its barrel sizzled in the rain. Charlie fought to keep the thing stable on its bipod and aimed as best he could, firing double taps to conserve rounds.
Akaki’s wagon disappeared about fifty ahead of us.
‘Go right, go right – cut him off!’
I swung the Toyota the way Charlie said, and found myself paralleling Akaki along a narrow mud track between two barns. Charlie held the weapon down to control it. ‘Get your foot down! Get up there before him!’
I fought the wheel as the back of the wagon bucked like a rodeo horse.
We roared back up onto the high ground and passed the village square to our left. I threw the Toyota into a turn as Akaki’s wagon broke out from the other side of the square. Charlie started firing before I’d even rammed on the brakes. ‘Give me a platform. Platform!’
I held the wagon still as Charlie kept firing, short and sharp.
Mud kicked up around Akaki’
s wagon. It took hits but kept going.
Another burst.
‘Stoppage!’
Akaki’s wagon crashed straight into the side of the village hall, its wing ripped open. One body jumped out of the back; another fell. The driver stayed put, slumped over the wheel.
‘Hold on!’
Ramming the gearshift into first, I aimed at the body running along the edge of the square.
Charlie worked frantically to change mags as we bounced and shuddered towards the runner. No mistaking who it was.
He turned, brought up his weapon, and fired.
I didn’t know if we were taking hits or not, and I didn’t care. I drove straight at him. ‘Get that fucking thing loaded!’
The wind roared through the windscreen as Akaki turned and started to run again.
Too late; our wing caught him in the small of his back, catapulting him across the road.
I passed him; hit the brakes.
Charlie tried to get out.
‘Stay!’
I threw the Toyota into reverse. The back wheel lifted over his body then came back down onto the road.
The front wheel followed.
I kept on reversing until Charlie could take aim. Two short, sharp bursts thudded into the body on the ground.
As we crested the hill away from the village, my foot never left the floor.
8
‘One down, one to go.’ Charlie had to shout to make himself heard over the wind rush.
‘You pissed?’ I kept my eyes on the road. We were only ten minutes out of the village and however much we needed them, I couldn’t risk lights. What was left of the windscreen my side was shattered. The smashed glass and plastic safety layer protected me from the worst of the wind, but made it even harder to spot the puddles, or any deep hole that might swallow us up.
The firs covering the high ground to our right made our world darker still. The good news was, we were back on the pipeline, heading for Turkey and Crazy Dave. The five-metre-wide scar ran like a guide rail to our left.
I checked the rear-view. Still no pursuit. Fuck it; I switched on the headlights and put my foot down.