The New Enemy

by Andy McNab

  A target.

  As darkness took root, Liam finally broke cover, slipping silently off into the night on a new compass bearing.

  20

  The night held little joy for Liam. Despite continually moving forwards, now with a destination firmly in mind, it seemed that with every step he barely moved at all. The air was thick, oily and sweet, and Liam found the quiet of the land around him disturbing. It was as though eyes were watching him, just waiting for him to make a mistake so they could come in for a kill. The sense of being prey rather than predator was only heightened by the howls of animals that seemed terrifyingly close.

  Clammy with sweat, his clothes clung to him like clingfilm. Every step was painful. His feet weren’t just sore, they were falling apart. He didn’t want to risk pausing to check them, but could feel blisters swelling and bursting as he travelled on, the water and blood from inside them slipping between his toes and making them rub even more. When he wiped his forehead, sweat mixed with dust dripped into his eyes. It stung like hell.

  Rationing his water was a constant mind battle when all he really wanted to do was sink pints of the stuff into his belly and pass out. And all the time his mind was filled with memories of what he’d gone through since being taken by Al Shabaab, of those he’d left behind, if they were even still alive.

  But despite all of this, Liam wondered how long he would have survived if he hadn’t chanced upon where their kit had been dumped. Not long at all, he guessed, and that was sobering, because he would have still had no choice but to make good his escape.

  As dawn started to break, he was close to collapse. It was simply through force of will that he was still on his feet at all. He’d wanted to stop hours ago, but had kept on moving, the lives of his section always at the front of his mind. He had to keep going. There was no other choice.

  After scouting the area, he chose somewhere to huddle away in. Trouble was, it didn’t offer much in the way of natural cover; all he could find was an old tree trunk on its side. Drawing on his very last reserves of energy, he set to work scraping out a hollow beneath it, just deep enough for him to slip inside. Unable to do any more, Liam pushed his kit into the hollow, then scrabbled together armfuls of any dead vegetation he could find, stacking it around the tree in some attempt to disguise his hiding place. Then, with tiredness threatening to drop him where he stood, he slipped into the hole, pulled himself into his doss bag and muttered a desperate prayer, before once more giving in to the exhaustion that swept over him with the thunderous immediacy of an avalanche.

  Voices.

  At first, Liam thought a dream had woken him. Some memory playing itself out in his head while his body tried to recover. But when he heard them again, he knew it wasn’t a dream – it was a real-life, honest to God nightmare.

  The sun was dazzlingly bright and dust motes floated through the air. Liam lay absolutely still and quiet, once again terrified for his life. Now that it was light enough to review his hiding place properly, he was none too happy with what he’d achieved the night before. Yes, he was hidden, but even from where he was lying it looked artificial. It wouldn’t take much for someone to walk by, wonder just what the hell had gone on and decide to come over for a closer look. If that happened they would see him for sure – and there he’d be, trapped in a doss bag, under a log, basically inviting people to come and slot him.

  None of this was good. But there was little he could do, not with people milling about close by. If he broke cover, they would have him for sure. He had to edge himself out as quietly as possible, and hold onto hope.

  With the voices still rumbling and chuntering away, Liam eased himself out of his doss bag as stealthily as possible. He then stuffed his kit back inside the bergen, and made sure the SCAR was to hand. It wouldn’t be much use in such cramped conditions, but if he had to bolt then a burst from the barrel would at least have his pursuers’ heads down and make them think twice about keeping up with the chase.

  Wanting to get eyes on what he might be facing, Liam slid up to the top of the hole to have a nosy. After all, he thought, he could be worrying about nothing, just some farmer going about his business.

  With the SCAR in front of him, he crawled upwards and stared hard through the rough vegetation he’d laid down over his hiding place. It was difficult to see at first, the bright light forcing his eyes shut and making them water. But once they’d cleared his heart sank. A farmer he could deal with, but this? This was a worst-case scenario and little more than twenty metres away.

  How he had missed it? He’d been exhausted, close to collapse, but blind? It didn’t matter now. He had a situation to deal with and focusing on how it had happened wasn’t going to help at all.

  A rough track cut across in front of him, not close enough to touch, but a few steps further and he would be able to thumb a lift back to Abdul Azeez. Just beyond that was a collection of buildings. Rough dwellings, one storey in height, and standing in front of them, chatting away and sharing bottles of Coke, was a group of armed men. He counted at least fifteen, all armed with everything from AKs to AR15s, with a few RPGs thrown in for good measure.

  Liam cursed his bad luck. To have come so far and to not yet be caught, and then to end up bedding down just spitting distance away from another bunch of Al Shabaab nutters seemed wholly unfair. But on the bright side, at least they hadn’t stumbled on him while he was still asleep. Now, at least he had the upper hand. He knew where they were, but they had no idea about him. Not yet. And if he kept quiet and they didn’t get spooked by anything, come nightfall he would have a decent chance of slipping away undiscovered.

  For a while Liam held his position, observing the men from his hole. They seemed relaxed, happy even. Perhaps even terrorists had days off, he thought, and almost smiled at the idea. Despite everything, his humour didn’t fail him. Then, as he made to slip back down into the darkness of his hideaway, the metallic clatter of automatic rifle fire tore the day apart as one of the terrorists was kicked backwards by a spray of rounds that took apart his chest. A shot of adrenaline blasted through Liam and had his heart rate up in a second. Quickly, he shuffled back out of the hole to see what was going on, hoping with everything he had left that it was nothing to do with him.

  What had been a calm, relaxed scene was now all action and violence. The terrorists were firing wildly from behind the buildings, yelling at each other, looking for ways to bolt. But who the hell were they fighting? Each other?

  Liam narrowed his eyes to fend off the glare of the sun, tracing their line of fire to try and see who was coming in on an attack. One of the terrorists made a break for it, pegging it across the road and towards him. Liam immediately had the SCAR up and ready to fire, but the man was kicked into the air as rounds slammed into him, dropping him just a metre or so away from Liam’s hole.

  Controlling his breathing, forcing himself not to panic, Liam stayed where he was. Whoever was coming in at Al Shabaab wasn’t messing around. And then he caught sight of them.

  He recognized the fatigues immediately. It was the KDF, and judging by the amount of fire coming in, at least a platoon’s worth of them. At first Liam was relieved, but then he realized this could just as easily turn bad for him too. The Kenyans had no idea he was there. For all he knew, they were a group who had nothing at all to do with the ones he had worked with back at BATUK and at the FOB. In the confusion of the battle raging in front of him, it wouldn’t take much for them to stumble on him and take him out before realizing he wasn’t actually Al Shabaab. And there was also the issue of stray bullets. The air was thick with rounds as the KDF closed in. If he made a break for it there was always an outside chance one would find him.

  Liam kept his head down. The fighting was upping in intensity as the KDF moved closer. The Al Shabaab terrorists were outgunned and outnumbered, but they were fighting back hard. Rounds were peppering the ground, slamming into the buildings, smashing rock and stone. Liam could hear the whine of ricochets. Then at last, real
izing their cause was lost, some of the terrorists started to make a break for freedom, racing off hard into the surrounding countryside.

  He stayed hidden: with things becoming so desperate he didn’t want to risk anything now there was a chance he could survive the battle and, hopefully, somehow communicate with the KDF.

  The sound of running feet caught Liam’s attention, but before he had a chance to react a figure tripped and, with a shocked yell, fell down into the scrape next to him. For a moment the two of them stared at each other, both as shocked as the other at the turn of events. Then, with panic wild in his eyes, the terrorist tried to aim his weapon at Liam, but there wasn’t enough room. When the man brought it to bear, the weapon caught on the tree trunk above them as he pulled the trigger, and rounds thumped harmlessly into the wood, covering them both in dagger-like splinters.

  Liam, fully aware that his SCAR would only hinder him in the claustrophobic hole they were both in, threw himself at his assailant, knocking the weapon to one side and powering into him with his fists. What training he’d received in hand-to-hand combat had never covered anything like this and every second was desperate. The man fought back, slamming Liam hard across the face with the back of his hand, but Liam hardly noticed. He was on top of him now, struggling to maintain the advantage as he continued his attack. The sudden explosive aggression had him breathing hard and he knew that if he didn’t close this down sharpish, fatigue would get the better of him.

  A glint of metal caught his eye and Liam saw the man pull out a knife with his left hand. He slashed with it, catching Liam’s arm, but the attack was wild and uncontrolled and Liam managed to grab hold of the man’s arm and pin it under his knee. He immediately followed this with a crushing head-butt, breaking his attacker’s nose, and then went back in with a flurry of punches. Most missed their target, but those that connected did so with terrible power.

  Liam felt the man beneath him go limp. Then, as he raised his fist to make absolutely sure he wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, a shout stopped him short.

  He looked up and found himself staring down a barrel.

  21

  ‘How long have I been gone?’

  Liam’s question was directed at Lieutenant Young, who was sitting with him in a tent back at the FOB. It wasn’t exactly private health care, but considering what he had been through, the medics had done a top job of checking him thoroughly and he almost felt human. Before he’d even been fully debriefed on what had happened – though he’d immediately passed on the essential rough intelligence he’d gathered about where the hostages were being held – he’d been jabbed with numerous needles, all filled with drugs designed to hunt and kill any possible infection he might have contracted during his ordeal. His feet had been checked and dressed and, thankfully, weren’t as bad as they had initially suspected. The cuts had been cleaned out and he had even been able to have a shower. Now he was in clean clothes, resting on a bed, and attached to a drip to get his fluids back up. He had also been brought a good supply of hot, sweet tea and some scoff to get down his neck.

  ‘Twelve days,’ said the lieutenant. ‘And nobody here has slept in that time. But then neither has the Prime Minister, courtesy of those videos you were all forced to make.’

  ‘The Prime Minister?’ said Liam, sipping from his mug. Usually he hated sugar in his drinks, but this stuff tasted like nectar. The warmth of it flowed through his body and the sweetness was the most delicious thing he’d ever had in his life.

  ‘Eight men go missing, that’s a big deal,’ said Young. ‘And it still has the potential to be the biggest political shit storm you could imagine. We have had offers from across the globe to help find you and bring you out.’

  ‘Didn’t know we were that important,’ said Liam.

  ‘This is the British Army, Scott. Of course you’re important!’ The lieutenant smiled and Liam laughed.

  ‘Well, we are the best, right, sir?’

  ‘That’s a given,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Now, we’re working on the INT you’ve already handed over, but tell me in detail what happened? Captain Owusu – indeed, everyone here – is good and ready to head in and get the rest of the lads out. And with that deadline just round the corner we need to move right now.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Liam.

  Young didn’t comment.

  ‘The KDF lads thought I was one of the terrorists,’ said Liam. ‘They were geed up from the firefight and it took just a little too long to make them realize that I wasn’t Al Shabaab.’

  ‘Well, you looked a fucking mess, in all honesty, Scott. And you stank to high heaven. We’ve burned your clothes.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Liam. ‘There was a few months left in them.’

  ‘So,’ Young pressed, ‘what actually happened? We heard nothing for days following your disappearance after the KDF assault.’

  ‘Yeah, that went to shit,’ said Liam. ‘Some guy from the KDF switched sides was what we heard.’

  ‘It was a mess,’ said Young. ‘It’s made everyone realize that Al Shabaab aren’t just a bunch of fanatical nutjobs looking for a glorious death. They’re cunning and ruthless. No pushover.’

  ‘Wait till you meet Azeez,’ said Liam. ‘He makes the rest of them look like nursery teachers.’

  At this, the lieutenant’s face grew dark. ‘He has carved himself quite the reputation for ruthlessness,’ he said.

  Liam nodded, then reported everything that had happened from the moment they’d surrendered. At the mention of the KDF prisoners the lieutenant spoke.

  ‘Courtesy of Al Jazeera, the videos went viral,’ he said. ‘Not just the footage of you lads, but also another film they made of the KDF hostages. Azeez was clearly over the moon with grabbing you lot. Best PR exercise he could hope for.’

  ‘They moved us to a place with cages,’ said Liam. ‘Food and water twice a day. The KDF soldiers looked the worst, though.’

  ‘And now here you are,’ said Young. ‘They’ll write books about you, Scott. What you’ve achieved is nothing short of superhuman.’

  ‘Bollocks is it,’ said Liam. ‘I got out and the rest of the lads are still in the hands of Al Shabaab. For all I know, they’re dead.’

  ‘Well, we don’t think they are, not yet anyway. Azeez has been on the charm offensive. Released another home movie.’

  Liam sat up. ‘What?’

  ‘It shows the body of a dead soldier. One who apparently tried to escape.’

  ‘Carter?’

  Young shook his head. ‘Hair was the wrong colour,’ he said. ‘So after what you’ve told me I’m thinking it was one of Azeez’s own, stripped of his clothes and dressed in some of the kit you lads had with you.’

  ‘So they’re alive?’

  ‘We don’t know for sure,’ said Young. ‘But we think Abdul Azeez is holding onto his prizes. Killing them would do little for his cause. If he can parade them about, he probably thinks he’s showing the world just how powerful he is.’

  Liam stared hard at the lieutenant. ‘So what are we going to do to make him realize that he isn’t?’

  Liam stared at a map and a number of black and white aerial photographs in front of him. With him were Lieutenant Young and Captain Owusu.

  ‘From everything you’ve told us – some very good INT by the way in the circs, Scott,’ said the lieutenant, ‘we were able to get a fly-by from some very willing RAF lads happy to take a few holiday snaps.’

  The photographs showed a collection of buildings and a track.

  ‘And I must say,’ said the lieutenant, ‘the drawings you gave us were rather good. We’ve compared them with these photographs, and the map, and we’re pretty certain we’ve nailed the location.’

  Liam laughed. ‘The sarge won’t believe that when he gets back,’ he said. ‘Reckons my pencil skills are crap.’

  ‘Well, clearly not any more,’ said the lieutenant and dropped his finger onto one of the photographs. ‘This is the compound,’ he explained. ‘It’s bigger
than on your sketches, but seems to fit your description. And this here is a vehicle. A large one, a truck of some kind.’

  Liam leaned in for a closer look, comparing it with what he could remember of where he had been held prisoner in a cage with the rest of the section. It looked bigger than he remembered, more buildings, but it had been night when they arrived, and night when he did a runner, so he hadn’t grasped the whole layout. But there was enough there to tell him what he needed to know.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘No doubt about it.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ asked Owusu.

  Liam nodded. ‘That’s the latrine,’ he said, pointing at a structure behind one of the buildings. ‘It’s also the last resting place of the drunken guard. And that’s the truck we were transported in.’ He checked through the other photographs. ‘It looks busy,’ he said, noticing stationary figures around the buildings. ‘There weren’t many guarding us when I was there. I think they thought it was an easy job, no chance of us causing any grief.’

  ‘Well, they’ve changed their mind,’ said Young. ‘Or at least, Azeez has. We’ve counted upwards of forty men.’

  ‘And which building are the rest of the section held in?’ asked the captain.

  ‘That one,’ said Liam without hesitation, his finger again on one of the photographs. ‘I can remember that because of the route from it to the latrine.’ He looked up at the two officers. ‘So are we going in?’