Rough Diamonds (A Spider Shepherd short story)

by Stephen Leather

  Parker flushed with anger and opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and with a curt nod, he turned and hurried away, sliding his pen and notepad into his pocket as he went.

  Jock waited until the SIS man was out of earshot before speaking. ‘So what have you got in mind, Spider? You’ve obviously been hatching a plan, because I could hear the cogs whirring.’

  ‘I’ll tell you, but before I do, I just want you to know that I’m going to do it anyway. If any or all of you want to come along for the ride, then fine, but if not, there’ll be no hard feelings from me.’

  His three patrol mates looked affronted. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Jimbo said. ‘Of course we’re in with you. We’re mates aren’t we?’ The other two nodded in agreement.

  ‘We’re the three and a half musketeers,’ said Jock. ‘All for one and one for all.’

  ‘Who’s the half?’ asked Jimbo, frowning.

  ‘If you’ve got to ask,’ said Geordie, and he laughed.

  ‘That’s just offensive,’ said Jimbo, crossing his arms and scowling.

  ‘Great,’ Shepherd said, ignoring the banter. ‘Though you may not be quite so keen when you hear the plan. Whatever we might think about their fighting qualities, we’re not going to defeat an armoured column of mercs with AK-47s, and since the Boss isn’t going give us any resources, we’re going to have to find someone else who will.’

  A slow smile spread across Jock’s face. ‘Go on, though I think I’ve already guessed where this is heading.’

  When Shepherd had finished outlining his plan to them, there was a stunned silence for a few seconds, before Geordie found his voice. ‘What? You want us to invade a whole country? Are you off your head?’

  ‘It’s not an invasion. Just a brief incursion. And who dares wins, right? We’re the SAS, the best of the best. They’re just a half-trained rabble. All we need is one of their Russian Hind helicopters.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all we need?’ said Jimbo. ‘Spider, we’re probably short of everything we need for this op. But even if we can manage to sort all that out somehow, and assuming we can get ourselves a Hind, then who the hell is going to fly it for us because the last time I checked none of us has a pilot’s licence.’

  ‘The pilot’s the least of our problems,’ said Shepherd. ‘Providing our Czech friend Jerzy is still around.’

  ‘He flies a Hoplite, remember?’ said Jimbo.

  ‘Maybe so,’ Jock said. ‘But as an old Cold Warrior, I can tell you that the Mi 2, Mi 8 and Mi 24 - the Hoplite, Hip and Hind as we call them - were all manufactured by the same Russian company. Apart from the weapons systems on the Hind, they’re pretty similar mechanically. The engines may be bigger but the controls are much the same, so in theory if you can fly one, you should be able to fly any of them. And though most Soviet kit is rubbish, the Hind is a real quality chopper. It’s faster than any equivalent Western helicopter and more manoeuvrable - I’ve even heard you can do barrel rolls in them, though I’d pay good money to see that. Their armour’s good too - anything smaller than a 23 millimetre round bounces off - and though the muj I trained shot a lot of them down with Stinger missiles in Afghanistan, the armour’s now been upgraded enough that they’ve even been known to survive impacts from Stingers.’

  ‘But even if Jerzy can fly a Hind, he’s a civilian now,’ said Jimbo. ‘Why would he want to risk his life for us?’

  ‘Because we’ll make it worth his while,’ Shepherd said. ‘Jimbo, mate, you need to stop with the negativity.’

  ‘I’m just playing devil’s avocado,’ said Jimbo.

  ‘Advocate,’ said Geordie.

  ‘I was joking,’ said Jimbo, flashing him a tight smile.

  ‘Hard to tell with you,’ said Geordie. ‘But I’m with Jock. I reckon Jerzy will do it for money. He’s a merc when you get down to it.’

  ‘To be fair, we get paid for what we do as well,’ said Jock.

  ‘We’re professional soldiers,’ said Shepherd. ‘We fight for queen and country, there’s a hell of a difference between us and mercenaries. Right, we need to get moving. I’ll drop you guys at the base so you can get to work on the detailed planning and grab some kit, while I find Jerzy and put a deal to him.’

  They piled into their Landcruiser with Shepherd at the wheel. He dropped them at the compound the SAS had requisitioned within the Sierra Leone Air Force headquarters compound near the head of Aberdeen Creek, then drove on to the civilian airport at Lungi to find Jerzy. In a decision that defied all logic, Lungi, the country’s only international airport had been sited on the far bank of the Sierra Leone River from the capital, Freetown so that the only way to reach it was by an inland detour that added several hours to the journey, or by using one of the rust-bucket ferries across the river. Shepherd took the latter option. He drove down to the waterfront at Kissy and inched his way onto the ferry among hordes of foot passengers making the crossing. The ferry was so packed there was not a single inch of deck space unoccupied when the ferry set off with a mournful note from its siren.

  The water seemed to be lapping dangerously close to the gunwales of the overloaded ferry, but Shepherd’s fellow passengers didn’t seem to be concerned and the ferry duly clanked and wheezed its way across to the far bank.

  Once the human tide pouring off the ferry had ebbed to a trickle, Shepherd drove on to Lungi. There was very little other traffic making for the airport. The tourist trade had died when the Civil War had started in 1991.

  Shepherd found Jerzy in the crew room of the civilian helicopter company that employed him. A Czech national, Jerzy had been a military helicopter pilot with the Soviet Pact forces but since the end of the Cold War he’d been ferrying passengers between Freetown and Lungi airport in a tiny Hoplite helicopter. Business wasn’t good and he spent most of his time drinking beer in front of a whirring fan in the crew room. He sipped his beer and listened as Shepherd outlined what he wanted him to do. He was shaking his head even before Shepherd had finished speaking. ‘I’ve never flown a Hind and I’d struggle enough with that, without trying to fire the weapons systems as well.’

  ‘You fly it and I’ll take care of the weapons systems,’ said Shepherd ‘It’s a gamble, I know, but if it comes off I’ll make sure that you’re handsomely paid - in diamonds, if you like.’ He paused. ‘So, what do you think? Can you fly a Hind gunship?’

  Jerzy thought long and hard, then gave a shrug of his shoulders. ‘I can fly a Hoplite and I can fly a Hip. I’ve never sat in a Hind but I suppose that the only difference is the fact that the Hind goes faster and is a bit more complicated. Yeah, I can probably do it. Might be a bumpy ride, but what is it you say, buggers can’t be choosy.’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘Beggars,’ he said. ‘Beggars can’t be choosy. But then again you might be right the first time.’

  A slow smile spread across Jerzy’s face. ‘Who knows? I may even enjoy it. I was sitting here the other day, thinking that this civilian life really isn’t for me. I miss the comradeship of the military, but most of all I miss the adrenaline and yes, even the danger. You know what, Spider? Count me in. And not only can I fly your Hind when you find it, but I can get my compatriot, Piotr, to fly the five of us up to the Liberian border in one of the company’s Hip cargo choppers - they’ve got much more range and payload than the Hoplite.’

  ‘How much will he want?’

  ‘I’ll pay him out of my share,’ said Jerzy. ‘But I’ll be wanting diamond.’

  ‘You’ll have them,’ said Shepherd. He shook the pilot’s hand. ‘But we have to move fast. Can you and Piotr be ready to go in twenty-four hours?’

  ‘I can be ready in two, if that’s what you want.’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘Twenty-four will be fine. We’ll lift up from the base at 0100 hours local tomorrow night.’

  * * *

  The SAS men spent the evening and the next day fine tuning their plans and assembling the equipment, weapons and ammunition they’d need. They opted to t
ake AK-47’s to match the Russian weapons being used by the enemy. This allowed them to cut down on the amount of small arms ammo they would have to carry themselves as they were confident they would be able to obtain resupplies from enemy stockpiles. As usual, they had cleared the op with the Operational Squadron’s Boss, and as usual, as soon as he had established that they would not be depriving him of any of his own air assets or other precious resources, he nodded distractedly and waved them away. They were planning a fast, in and out operation, so took minimum rations and water, but maximum ammunition.

  Parker appeared in the late afternoon and laid a bundle of kit, including a bush-knife, a weapon cleaning kit and a pair of worn, but expensive looking hiking boots on the table in front of them. He then added to Russian grenades to the pile. Shepherd checked the kit over. ‘It’s not perfect,’ he said, ‘and there’s certainly no danger of any of us nicking these boots, but I suppose it will have to do.’

  ‘Thanks for your gratitude,’ Parker said, with heavy sarcasm. ‘I had agents in half a dozen different countries, scanning the shops and bazaars for bits of kit and getting it all back here from all over the place was a complete logistical nightmare.’

  ‘I know,’ Jock said. ‘And all us ungrateful bastards have to do now is go off and risk our lives taking on first the Liberian armed forces, and then a bunch of battle-hardened mercenaries armed with heavy weapons supplied by our new best friend. Life just isn’t fair sometimes, is it, Parker?’

  Parker ignored Jock and instead looked at Shepherd. ‘Can I have a word?’ he said. ‘In private.’

  ‘You can say anything you need to say in front of my mates,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ said Parker. ‘This is for your ears only.’

  He walked over to the bar and stood there on his own, waiting for Shepherd to join him. ‘Go on,’ said Jock. ‘You can always tell us what he says afterwards – assuming he doesn’t make you sign the Official Secrets Act.’

  Shepherd ambled over to Parker who had taken out a pack of small cigars. He offered the pack to Shepherd but he shook his head. Parker slid a cigar between his lips and lit it with a Swan Vesta match. He blew smoke before he started to talk. ‘You’ve got your head screwed on all right,’ said Parker. ‘You’re not your typical squaddie.’

  ‘We’re SAS,’ said Shepherd. ‘Typical doesn’t make it through Selection.’

  Parker nodded. ‘Like I said earlier, you don’t think like a soldier, you think like a spook.’

  ‘And like I said, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

  Parker smiled thinly. ‘What I’m saying is that unlike most of your colleagues, you clearly have options.’

  ‘Options?’

  ‘Outside of the SAS. Jumping out of planes with your guns blazing is all well and good when you’re young, but you don’t stay young forever and the time will come when you’re looking for alternative work.’

  ‘I’m happy doing what I’m doing,’ said Shepherd. ‘I worked bloody hard to get into the SAS, I’m in no hurry to leave.’

  ‘You have a wife and a young son,’ said Parker. ‘Family’s can make you reassess your priorities.’

  Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know about my family?’

  Parker chuckled. ‘I’m MI6, Shepherd. I can pretty much find out anything about anybody. I could tell you a few things about your pal Jock that would change your whole perception of him, for instance.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m not interested.’

  ‘The point I’m making is that you’re special, Shepherd. You’re a good soldier but that trick memory of yours and the way that your mind works sets you apart from the rest. MI6 could use you. Or MI5 if you’d rather stay at home. But long term, you should think about making the move. You’re a natural.’

  ‘How do you know about my memory?’ asked Shepherd. His memory was near-photographic but he tended to keep quiet about his talent.

  ‘I like your suspicious nature, that’ll come in handy, too.’ He patted Shepherd on the shoulder. ‘I’ve seen your Army record. I know everything there is to know about you, and everything I know tells me that you’ll make the perfect intelligence operative.’

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ said Shepherd.

  Parker took out a brown leather wallet that had turned shiny from use and flicked it open. He slid out a business card and handed it to Shepherd. ‘Circumstances change,’ he said. ‘If they do, call me.’

  Parker left the bar and Shepherd went back to join the others. ‘What did he say?’ asked Jock.

  ‘It was weird,’ said Shepherd. He handed Parker’s business card to him. ‘Said he really fancied you and wanted to blow you if you were up for it. Said you were to give him a call.’

  Jock’s jaw fell and it was a second or two before he realised that Shepherd was joking. ‘Bastard,’ he growled. ‘You had me going there.’

  * * *

  Shepherd, Jock, Geordie and Jimbo assembled on the hard standing inside the SAS section of the airbase at 00:50 the next morning and five minutes later they heard the chop of rotors as the Hip helicopter appeared out of the darkness and landed in a storm of dust. The cargo door slid open and Jerzy gave them a thumbs up. He helped them load their bergens and weapons before moving aside to let them climb in while the rotors continued to turn slowly above their heads. Within five minutes they were airborne again and heading east-south-east towards the Liberian border.

  Flying at low-level and without lights, the Czech pilot, Piotr, flew over the bush putting grazing animals into panic-stricken flight. The helicopter passed well wide of the remote village of Buedu and flew on to within a couple of miles of the border, before finding a clearing in the bush where they could land. The SAS patrol and Jerzy jumped down and unloaded their kit before the helicopter rose back into the air. The downwash lashed the scrub around them as it turned and flew off to the West. The patrol had gone into all-round defence at once and they remained motionless for several minutes as the sound of the helicopter faded into the distance. Only when they were satisfied that they were alone in the bush did they move off.

  Dawn was already streaking the eastern sky as they made their way across the unmarked border and into Liberia. The terrain was a mixture of open scrubland and thick forest and they moved deeper into the country undetected, giving a wide berth to the handful of scattered villages they passed.

  They were in silent routine, pausing for ten minutes in every hour to watch, listen and scent the air before moving on. They had been going for four hours when Shepherd at last called a halt at the edge of a clearing on an east facing slope of the hills that they had been crossing. ‘This will do for now,’ he said. ‘We’ll set up a temporary OP here and move on once we know where we’re heading.’ The SAS men took off their bergens and lay up in cover, two on watch, while the others rested.

  Jerzy, puzzled, whispered to Shepherd ‘So where is the base we’re making for?’

  ‘We’re going to find out.’

  ‘You don’t know where it is?’

  ‘No, but the pilots flying the Liberian Hinds do and they’re going to lead us to it. All we have to do is track them as they come and go.’

  For a while there was no sound but the chorus of birds and insects from the forest. Then, faintly at first but growing steadily louder, they heard the noise of an aircraft engine. As it moved closer they could pick up the staccato beat of rotors. The Hind passed within three or four miles of them, heading north-west as it made for the border with Sierra Leone. The patrol moved out at once and were in position under its flight path as the Hind returned from its mission an hour or so later. They took a bearing from its course and tracked it almost due south. Several hours later they cleared a forested ridge and in the distance, through a gap in the trees, they could see the airfield from which the Hinds were operating.

  They moved closer, pausing constantly to look and listen and scent the air for any sign of the enemy before moving forward agai
n. They set up an OP in a dense patch of scrub close to the airfield and settled down to watch and wait.

  They heard and saw two more Hinds take off and pass almost directly overhead. The jungle camouflage paint of the choppers made them stand out vividly against the sky, and from a distance the attack pods on their stub wings, the bulbous shapes of the pilot’s and gunner’s cockpits, and the double air intakes, gave them the look of ugly flying beetles.

  They also saw a huge Russian Cub transport aircraft - the same size as a Hercules but with a different engine note – land and began to unload supplies. ‘That’ll have flown in from Kiev in the Ukraine,’ Jock said, ‘It used to be the Soviets’ export hub of choice, and the Russians still use it now. The Russians play a clever game with weapons exports. All official government to government deals are done in Moscow but they run their under-the-counter deals through the Ukraine so the Russians can show a clean pair of hands to the world.’

  They remained in cover for the rest of the day and through the evening. Activity on the airfield slowed and then ceased. Towards midnight they donned their PNG night vision goggles and Shepherd led the team through the scrub and down to the airfield.

  The perimeter was secured by a steel chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire. It looked new - perhaps another gift from the Liberians’ Russian sponsors. They could see a group of soldiers illuminated by the pool of light from the guard post at the gates but they saw only one other guard, making a desultory patrol along the fence.

  Shepherd decided against cutting the fence. Instead he waited for the guard to pass, then moved along until he saw the faint line of an animal track coming up to the fence and continuing beyond it. There was a hollow beneath the fence that was sufficiently large for the animal to pass through and it was the work of only a couple of minutes to enlarge it enough for the patrol to crawl under the fence. They paused to cover their tracks, pushing the dusty soil back into the hollow, smoothing it down and scattering a few dead leaves across it, then headed stealthily onto the airfield.