A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  ‘Come on, Billy,’ Hazel joined in. ‘Sit here with us and try and eat something.’

  Billy dropped into a seat next to Mick and collected some soup from Hazel. As he raised it to his lips the rain started, the soft misty drizzle giving way to a sudden downpour.

  ‘Typical English weather,’ remarked Mick, raising his voice slightly over the drumming of the drops on the roof.

  ‘Good for ducks,’ Hazel said.

  ‘And Special Forces,’ chipped in Billy and they shared a complicit smile.

  ***

  Crane arrived back at the station from his duty on the pick-up truck. As he finished unloading some rubbish they’d collected, Kean asked, ‘All well?’

  ‘Yes, as far as I can tell. Although this time Kourash kept the hostages well out of the way, so I wasn’t able to see any of them.’

  ‘How did Kourash seem?’

  ‘Quite chirpy. But then he would be, he thinks he’s going to get a list tomorrow morning of the names of the prisoners going to be released from Bagram.’

  ‘Bloody idiot.’ Keane said.

  ‘Amen to that,’ agreed Crane. ‘We just need to get through the next few hours, without Kourash doing anything stupid.’

  ‘I think we’ll be okay. There is often a lull in activities once we get to about Day Three.’

  ‘Why?’ Crane wanted to know.

  ‘It’s a bit like the boredom sets in. Everyone, hijackers and hostages alike, become resigned to their fate and hunker down for the long haul. If we were to let things run, instead of going in tonight, then I would anticipate things would pick-up again tomorrow. It depends on the man in charge, really. Depends when the frustration boils over and chaos ensues.’

  ‘Which it would definitely do if Kourash realised there was no list of prisoners to be released and that his brother would never be on the list, even if there was one.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘In that case, thank God we’re going in tonight,’ Crane once again evoking the name of the higher being everyone was praying to. Not only the families of the hostages, but those of the hijackers. Everyone was praying for a swift end to the siege. But what outcome would those prayers bring? Death and destruction was a dead cert. But who’s death? Crane knew how he was feeling about Billy and that was bad enough. How would he feel if it was Tina in there? Or his son? Such a thought was too horrible to contemplate without a crutch, so he pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.

  Day Four

  04:00 hours

  Billy sneaked a peek at the time. It was 04:00 hours by his watch, but of course that could be wrong, he hadn’t had anything to check it against for days. He desperately wanted to wake his fellow hostages, but that could wake the hijackers. And he needed them asleep...

  Jesus Christ!

  Jets screamed above his head, swooping down, flying low over the carriage. It had started. Billy slid off his seat to his knees and grabbed Emma, whom he considered to be the most vulnerable, pulling her to the ground with him. As she hit the floor with a thud, she screamed, but Billy ignored her protestations and rolled her under the seat.

  Billy tried to shout to Mick, Hazel and Peggy, but his voice was useless above the noise of the aircraft. But he needn’t have worried; they had already reacted instinctively and were dropping to the floor. He looked around the seat he was squatting behind to see the two hijackers jabbering, looking around, pointing their guns at the roof.

  ‘Shoot!’ screamed Kourash as he burst through the door from the driver’s cab.

  His men obeyed his order and began peppering the ceiling with bullets.

  ‘Not up there, shoot the hostages you fools!’

  As the AK47’s turned towards the carriage seats, Billy ducked back behind his fragile barrier. But they only got a few rounds off before the demons of hell broke through into the carriage. And from somewhere, God knows where, Billy was that disoriented, a couple of machine guns barked into the night.

  Windows smashed and stun grenades were thrown in. The flashes searing across Billy’s eyes as he hadn’t managed to close them in time. Then the smoke grenades peppered the floor and began billowing thick fog through the carriage. After a few seconds Billy could no longer see the hijackers. The smoke got in his throat and as he coughed he tugged at his shirt and tried to pull it up over his nose and mouth.

  The hijackers began firing wildly and bullets streamed from their guns, cutting through the smoke, trying to find a target. Any target. Bullets thumped into the back of seats, glanced off the floor, pinged off the roof. A deadly, unpredictable, small lump of metal, flying through the air at hundreds of miles per hour.

  Billy got ready to fling himself over to Emma, across the aisle, just a few feet away. Mick was looking after Hazel and Peggy was shielding Charlie’s body with her own. As Billy tensed his body and pushed off, like a sprinter from the blocks, Kourash barrelled into him, knocking him out of the way. Billy scrabbled and crabbed trying to turn himself around to go back up the carriage, but he was too late. Kourash had reached Emma.

  Kourash pulled her to her feet, put a gun to her head and bent down to shout something in her ear. Whatever it was, she looked around and started screaming, a scream that was quickly extinguished by Kourash’s hand over her mouth. He dragged her along and they both went backwards up the carriage towards the driver’s cab door. At least Kourash’s fellow hijackers had the sense to stop firing, while their leader moved along the carriage. Just as he disappeared into the fog, there was a dull thud, followed by a gust of damp air. The carriage doors had been blown off. Black coated figures flung themselves through the now open doors. The shouting was merciless.

  ‘On the floor. Get down now. Drop your weapon. Down, I said get down!’ Shouted over and over again, accompanied by short bursts of gun-fire, which was highly targeted and highly deadly.

  Billy did as he was told. No need for him to be a hero. There were lots of soldiers on the train now. He felt a hand on his back and turned to see what was clearly a member of the Special Forces holding up a thumb, to check that Billy was alright. Billy nodded but then motioned the man down. Once his mouth was near the soldier’s ear Billy yelled out his concern for Emma.

  ‘A hostage taken. Drivers cab. Up there,’ and he pointed to where he knew the door was, even though he still couldn’t see it.

  A further thumbs up and the soldier moved away, looking as though he were mumbling to himself but no doubt saying something into his communications equipment.

  It only took a few seconds more, a few rounds of bullets, a few screams, before Billy heard the soldiers shout, ‘Clear.’

  It might be clear in the carriage, but not up in the driver’s cab. Billy clambered to his feet, straining to get to the cab, wanting to know about Emma. But he ran into the brick wall that was one of his rescuers.

  ‘Get down. This carriage may be clear but the train isn’t secure. Do as you’re told and help the others.’ At least Billy thought that was the gist of what the man was saying. His ears were still ringing from the stun grenades, gun fire and shouting.

  Reluctantly he returned to the hostage’s vulnerable hiding places to check everyone else was alright.

  Mick was grinning, his arms still around Hazel. ‘Just like the pictures, eh lad!’ he managed to shout.

  ‘Hazel?’ Billy shouted and gave her a questioning thumbs up, to which he received a nod in reply.

  Peggy was holding a wailing Charlie, all the while rocking him, but the boy didn’t look like he was going to stop screaming anytime soon. Then a soldier arrived appearing like a mirage seen through the heat of the desert.

  ‘We have to get you out. Follow me,’ and he and Billy pushed, pulled and cajoled the others up onto their feet and they made their way unsteadily to the door, where more rescuers were waiting to help them off the train.

  Mick was the last one to leave. He’d let go of Hazel, who’d been picked up by a soldier and carried off. But he was still sitting down. Billy gestured for him
to hurry up. But Mick still didn’t move. Billy bent down to help him and found he had to pull Mick up off the floor. All his earlier bravado was gone. His blustering was just bluff. And that bluff had been called. Holding a shivering, shaking Mick upright he passed him to the next soldier, who bundled him down the carriage towards the blown off door. Billy was supposed to follow, but went in the opposite direction, towards the driver’s cab.

  ‘Oy,’ a voice called. ‘Out. Now.’

  ‘No,’ shouted Billy. ‘I’m not leaving her.’

  ‘Look, mate,’ someone grabbed hold of him and hissed in his ear. ‘There are still bombs on board. Everyone off.’

  ‘I’m not everyone,’ Billy could shout as loudly as any other soldier. ‘I’m army and I’m staying.’

  ‘Fucking hell. Well it’s your funeral,’ the man said and tossed Billy a discarded weapon.

  04:05 hours

  ‘Situation report,’ Major Blunt asked of Captain Thomas.

  ‘In the carriage, four hijackers killed, four hostages disembarked, one hostage, army lad, insisting on staying. In the cab believe two hijackers and one hostage.’

  ‘Ask that army lad, is there a bomb in the cab.’

  After a short pause, ‘Yes, sir,’ came the voice of the nearest member of Thomas’ team to Billy. ‘In the form of a bicycle.’

  ‘Very well, await further orders.’

  Major Blunt radioed the two hovering attack helicopters that had been responsible for the machine gun fire earlier. They were hovering over either side of the train, a hundred yards or so above it.

  ‘Move into position. Front cab. Confirm you can see two hijackers and one hostage.’

  ‘Roger that,’ came the reply and on his satellite image Blunt could just make out faint lights from instruments inside the helicopters as they moved into position, one at either side of the train, the helicopters dropping level with the driver’s cab door. He knew that on each chopper was a sniper, poised by the open door, wearing heat vision goggles. Night vision goggles wouldn’t have been any good. The hijackers had long since put a film coating on the windows, so they could see out and no one could see in. But no one could hide from heat seeking goggles. The hijackers would show up as red figures, brandishing red weapons, if those weapons had recently been fired, which they would have been.

  ‘What can you see?’ he asked the snipers.

  ‘One hijacker my side, looking out of the window, machine gun in hand, raised in the air,’ said sniper number one.

  ‘One hijacker holding a hostage as a shield, by the door, on my side, looks like a hand gun at hostage’s head,’ said sniper number two. ‘Hostage facing the window. Hijacker behind.’

  ‘Have you a clear shot?’

  ‘Affirmative, clear head shot,’ said one.

  ‘Not yet,’ said two.

  ‘Clear head shot,’ said one.

  ‘Still no,’ said two.

  ‘Still clear head shot,’ said one.

  ‘Still.....affirmative, clear shot,’ confirmed two.

  ‘Take it.’

  Blunt kept his eyes on the satellite picture, seeing two simultaneous flashes, one from each helicopter.

  ‘Target down,’ said sniper one.

  Blunt held his breath.

  ‘Target down, hostage safe,’ said sniper two.

  ‘Driver’s cab clear, repeat driver’s cab clear,’ Blunt said to his team. ‘Well done everyone.’ His voice was cold and calm and detached. But he exhaled a thankful breath as he removed his headset.

  ***

  Billy could hear the helicopters turn away, the sound of their blades disappearing into the distance. Soldiers in front of him fumbled with something on the driver’s cab door and the others started fumbling at their goggles, pulling them off and turning on torch lights attached to their uniforms.

  ‘Down!’ someone shouted and every man obeyed. The blast of the door lock being blown out seemed faint by comparison to the earlier cacophony.

  ‘Emma!’ Billy shouted and pushed through the doorway, an adrenaline surge making him stronger, quicker to react than the others and he reached her before them. He saw two hijackers, one by each door, both dead, both with bullet wounds in their heads. Emma was lying on top of Kourash, who had a hand gun in his hand and Billy realised what had happened. Kourash had tried to use Emma as a human shield. So in the end Kourash couldn’t bring himself to blow up the train, Billy realised. He had been shown up for the coward he was. Not even brave enough to be a suicide bomber. He was a coward who killed people who were no threat to him, such as Colin and David. His final ignominy being hiding behind a woman.

  As someone turned a light towards Emma, Billy bent over her lifeless body, placing a finger on her neck. She appeared uninjured. There was no blood that Billy could see in the jerking lights, which were making him feel as if he was in a silent movie. Every move he made as though picked out by strobe lights. Emma was unconscious. She must have suffered a blow to the head, he surmised, as she fell out of Kourash’s final, treacherous, embrace. An embrace that had started out as attraction all those days ago, ended up as hatred. Feeling a faint pulse under his finger, he shouted, ‘She’s alive,’ and hoisted her up, cradling her in his arms.

  ‘Here, mate,’ someone said and went to take Emma from him.

  But Billy shook his head. It was his job to carry her off the train, his responsibility. It was the least he could do.

  04:10 hours

  Searchlights that had been placed on the roof of the pick-up truck, were illuminating the track and in the distance, the train. Crane had watched the start of the rescue mission from his position further back along the line. Seeing some things, but hearing everything. The rapid tattoo of gun-fire, the flash of the stun grenades, the tracers of the bullets fired and the sound of screaming. Male and female. Were they hostages, or hijackers? It was impossible to tell in the confusion.

  He was plugged into the communications system and so could hear Major Blunt and his team and as soon as the snipers confirmed the hijackers were down, Crane screamed at the driver to start the engine and get a bloody move on.

  In the pick-up truck’s flatbed behind Crane, army doctors and nurses crouched down, encumbered by equipment bags. Stretchers had been loaded on board along with defibrillators, drips, medication, everything they would need to set up a make shift emergency triage right there on the tracks. They were well trained in coping with injuries in the theatre of war, but a train track atop a viaduct was a first for all of them.

  Crane heard the attack helicopters swoop away, to be replaced by rescue helicopters, their bright searchlights piercing the evil that had enveloped the train. An evil repelled by the brave SAS lads, who would disappear as quickly as they’d appeared.

  As the pick-up truck lurched to a stop a couple of metres from the train, the medics scrambled off the back and ran around the sides of the truck towards the train, as stumbling towards them, came the first of the hostages, each assisted by a member of the special forces. In teams of two they ran, one doctor and one nurse, carrying a stretcher between them. All patients were to be stretchered off. No exceptions. God forbid they should be rescued from the train, just to fall off the track in the darkness and confusion and fall 100 feet to their deaths. They would be disorientated from the rescue, their vision compromised from the stun grenades and hearing deadened from the noise.

  First to arrive was what appeared to be a rather oversized woman, but Crane quickly recognised the pregnant hostage, Hazel. As she was placed on the stretcher, she was screaming in pain and holding her swollen belly. She’d gone into labour. Not surprising. The medics quickly set up a drip, strapped her on the stretcher and signalled for the rescue harness from the first helicopter.

  Poised for the call, it took no more than a couple of heartbeats for the harness to appear and with it a member of the flight team. Inching down towards the track in a well-practiced routine. Hazel would be transferred directly to Leeds hospital, where her husband was waiting for he
r. Indeed, all of the hostages’ families would be there. They had been woken up at 02:00 hours, told of the rescue mission and taken to the rendezvous point in the hospital. Apart from Billy’s that was. His parents were still blissfully unaware that their son was on the train.

  Then a shivering woman and a hysterical boy appeared, were treated and evacuated, followed by a man who, when his rescuer let him go, promptly fell to the tracks.

  Crane watched all of this through the windscreen of the pick-up truck, obeying orders to stay out of the way. He watched the four hostages being treated and airlifted to safety, wondering all the time where the final two were. His feet were itching to leave the truck, hands tapping on the dashboard, knees bobbing up and down.

  And then Crane saw it. Saw the iconic image of the conclusion to the hijack. Billy was emerging from the darkness and the fog that still clung to the wreck of the train, carrying Emma in his arms. Walking into the light. Walking to safety.

  06:00 hours

  Already the television was full the rescue. There were calls of ‘hurrah’ for the brave lads who had stormed the train and rescued the six hostages, without any casualties. Crane noticed that the news programmes carefully avoided information about the dead hijackers. Just kept going on about mission accomplished with no loss of life.

  Crane watched the television placed high up on the wall of the waiting room in the hospital. Also waiting for Billy was Diane Chambers. Having been told of the blossoming relationship between the two young people by Harry, Crane had decided to call her after the rescue and suggested she meet him at the hospital, so she could see Billy. Unless she had something better to do, that was. Diane had said not on your bloody life.

  Harry, meanwhile, was pushing Diane for an editorial piece, a human story behind the tragedy. He remained at the rescue site, to write about the aftermath of the rescue. For that he needed to see the remains of the train in daylight. So whilst waiting for Billy, she was scribbling away furiously one minute, then chewing her nails and gazing into space another.