Amid the silence that followed, Davies stood up and straightened his jacket. He looked at Callahan and Sewell and said, ‘You’d better get your man Watchman out of there. If it wasn’t over before, it certainly is now.’
SIXTY
It was instantly darker under the canopy of tangled branches, and I hoped it was thick enough to prevent me being tracked by the men in the Ansat. If they had a thermal imaging camera on board, it wouldn’t take them long to pin me down, but I was counting on them trying to find me and draw me out, rather than hosing down the entire woodland in the hopes of scoring a lucky hit.
There are two ways of stopping a potential attacker: one is by making it clear that any confrontation will be costly and painful – to them. But that’s tough to do for one man against a machine. The men in the machine will always consider themselves in a superior position by being invulnerable against all but obvious superior firepower. And I didn’t have that advantage.
The other way is to demonstrate from the get-go that you intend to fight hard and will take them all out if necessary. Even if you don’t get them all, you might inflict sufficient damage to reduce their capability and confidence to zero.
I wasn’t about to scare them, I knew that. But neither were they going to let me go; I’d already hurt them once and they weren’t going to forget it and go home. So I was going to have to wait my chances and go for a war of attrition.
After grabbing what arsenal I had out of the car, I got a couple of hundred yards into the trees before I slowed down and slid behind a large trunk with a view out across the lake. I couldn’t protect the pickup if the bad guys wanted to trash it out of malice, but I didn’t want to isolate myself too far away from my only possible means of escape. If they decided to drop men at intervals along the shore, eventually they would box me in and the ending would be predictable.
The air here was filled with the aroma of mud and pine sap, reminding me of similar circumstances in other places. It’s not unusual when faced with imminent conflict to see a kaleidoscope of previous experiences tucked away in one’s memory, some helpful, some not. Right now the main thing I could recall was having a heavy-duty rifle with the kick of a mule and armour-piercing shells. Pity was, armed with the Saiga, the Val – which only had a few rounds left – and a semi-automatic pistol, that particular memory wasn’t going to do me one bit of good.
I kicked away at the layer of needles and twigs beneath me, digging a hollow of sorts and giving me a firing point with some degree of protection. It wasn’t great but as the old story goes, any foxhole will do.
The engine noise was getting louder as the helicopter began edging along the shore close to the water. I could see the tactics the pilot was using; flying overhead gave them a foreshortened view downwards, further restricted by the movement of trees. If I hugged the roots, they might never see me but I could see them and fire into their underbelly. But looking inwards from the water, they could see between the trees and get a better view of any movements against the slope.
The treetops closer to me began shaking as they were buffeted by the downdraft, the wave effect moving towards my section of the lake as if an invisible hand was running across them, smoothing the way. The water, too, was rippling as the machine edged lower, until a fine spray began to blow across the surface, forming a cloud of vapour running across the lake and reflecting the light in a multi-million tiny particles.
The helicopter came into view. It was about eighty yards out and moving with great deliberation. Two men were standing in the open doorway behind another man, sitting with his legs over the edge and his feet resting on the steps of the lower half of the clamshell door. He was cradling an assault rifle across his chest and wearing dark glasses. All three were in full combat gear, but like before, without insignia.
The man sitting down must have seen something, a flash of colour, maybe, a change in light as the foliage around me moved, because I was being very still. He swung his rifle down and watched for a moment, his glasses like large black buttons in a dark face.
Then he grinned and lifted the weapon in a smooth movement and pulled the trigger.
I fell back just in time. The trees around me were ripped apart by a long burst of gunfire, smashed branches and foliage raining down all around me. Something hot burned my shoulder and I felt the sting of a wood splinter pierce my cheek. I brushed it away and as soon as the firing stopped, risked a quick look.
He had emptied his magazine but was using two mags back-to-back; that is, a fresh magazine taped upside-down to the other. All he had to do to reload was unclip the empty, spin it round the other way and clip the new one in place without losing time or momentum. It wasn’t the most professional way of using a weapon because the open top of the second magazine could easily pick up dirt and become jammed. The two mags also added to the weight and created an imbalance to the weapon. But some fighters did it to look good and only found out the bad practice when it was too late.
Now it was my turn. I rolled round the tree and brought up the Val just as he swung his rifle back towards me.
I don’t know if he’d seen me or not, or whether he’d been trying to intimidate me into breaking cover. Either way, it didn’t work the way he wanted. Before he could pull the trigger I fired a three-shot burst, aiming for the main body mass. I had to show that this business was going to be costly to them, and that I had the means to fight back. The sound of the suppressed shots was remarkably low, little more than a rattle beneath the silencing canopy of the trees. The men in the helicopter wouldn’t have heard a thing. But the effect on the shooter in the doorway was dramatic.
The first two of the three rounds hit him high on the chest. The third I figured went somewhere over his shoulder into the interior of the cabin as he was knocked back under the double impact. He slumped back, dropping his rifle.
The pilot must have reacted by instinct as the other men shouted, or maybe it was the noise of the missed round impacting on his machine and ricocheting around the inside. The helicopter dipped and rolled slightly, turning away from the shoreline. The effect was enough to flip the shooter forward and out of the door.
One of the others tried to grab him but he was too late.
The shooter dropped into empty space, the safety line paying out behind him, and came to a brutal stop below the helicopter, where he hung like a broken doll.
I fired a couple of rounds at the open doorway, and one of the other men leaned out and fired back, brushing the trees around me. Then he dodged back and the helicopter veered away under power, roaring up and across the treetops out of my sight.
I checked the Val’s magazine. Two shots left. It would be time soon to try out the Saiga.
SIXTY-ONE
‘Cut him loose!’ Chesnokoy shouted, and made a chopping motion at the man nearest the door. The man, whose name Chesnokoy couldn’t recall, turned and stared at him, then gestured down at his stricken colleague on the end of the line.
‘He’s only wounded,’ he protested. ‘We should pull him back up.’
But Chesnokoy shook his head. ‘He’s finished. We’d never be able to pull him up and he’ll just drag us down. Cut the fucking thing!’
The man shook his head, a flicker of desperation on his face. Then Gorin stepped across the cabin and produced a razor-sharp knife. He pushed the man aside and sliced through the safety line.
For a long moment the wounded man seemed to hang there, spinning on the end like a top, his mouth working as he waited to be pulled to safety. Then gravity took over and he was gone from sight, plummeting into the water far below.
‘We should go back for him,’ Kasbek shouted. ‘He landed in the lake.’
‘No,’ Chesnokoy replied coldly. ‘It would have been like hitting concrete from this height. Leave him – he’s gone. We need to finish this thing now.’
Kasbek looked across at the navigator, who was leaning out from the cabin to see what was happening. He shook his head and made a slicing motion across
his throat to indicate that it would be a waste of time.
Chesnokoy meanwhile, was checking over one of the rappelling ropes. He made sure the coils were not tangled, then grabbed the comms headset and shouted, ‘I’m going down! Find me a clearing up the slope.’ He slung his assault rifle across his chest, watched by the others.
Gorin stood up and pulled the other rope close to the door. He yelled, ‘I’m coming with you.’
Chesnokoy nodded and gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Like the old days!’
The pilot took them back over the trees to a point up the slope away from the water. The navigator was watching the terrain for a clearing, and signalled when he saw one. It wasn’t large, an area where several trees had fallen in domino fashion in high winds. But it was enough for two men to land safely.
As soon as the navigator gave the thumbs-up sign, Chesnokoy and Gorin were out of the door and sliding down the ropes as fast as they could, aware at any moment that the gunman on the ground might see them and open fire. If he did, they would be sitting targets.
They got down safely and dodged quickly into the cover of the surrounding trees. Chesnokoy got his bearings, checking the trees through the scope on his assault rifle. He estimated that they had landed roughly 400 metres away from where the man had been shooting at them, but on higher ground. That was both good and bad; good in that it gave them the advantage of viewpoint, looking down towards the target, and bad because he would have the advantage of sighting on them against the skyline if they weren’t careful.
The two men began moving down the slope some fifty metres apart, carefully avoiding fallen branches and tangles of brushwood. The ground here was liberally scattered with pine needles, which made for soft going, but they were aware that the man below them had thick cover in his favour. If he had seen them rappelling down, all he had to do was wait for them to work their way down the slope towards him.
Chesnokoy took several deep breaths to calm his nerves. He felt angry – angrier than he’d been in a long time. This job had turned into a nightmare. What had been described to him as an easy mission, to go after two men, one of them old and beyond being a real opponent, had become something very different. Somehow another person had inserted himself into the field, and that person had taken them apart and made them look like amateurs, choosing the ground on which he fought and not even showing himself.
Well, that was going to change, he decided. The man was now up against someone who had fought on these terms many times before. This was the kind of warfare he understood – man against man.
SIXTY-TWO
I watched as two men made their way down the ropes to the ground. I couldn’t do anything because I hadn’t got a clear enough line of fire, and shooting on the off-chance of a hit would give away my position to the observers in the helicopter. With their eagle’s-eye view of the forest floor they would be able to cover the area with deadly fire the moment I showed myself.
I moved slowly across the slope, using the scope to locate the two men as they slipped into the cover of the trees. They were good; they moved quickly and with the minimum of body showing before ducking into cover, using the ground in a way that told me they were experienced in this kind of guerrilla-style warfare.
I slid left, further away from the parking lot area into denser trees where the ground cover was thicker. Somehow I had to isolate the men one from the other, to stop them working as an effective team. If I didn’t, they’d begin to herd me until they got me where they wanted. The best way I could achieve that was to put them in line away from me so that the man furthest away couldn’t open fire easily without endangering his partner.
I made my way down the slope until I saw the glint of water through the trees. The ground here was more open where some clearance work had been done, but there was still plenty of cover if I needed it, as long as I kept an eye on the approximate positions of the two men gunning for me.
As soon as I was as low as I could get without getting my feet wet, I turned and started running along the shore. The helicopter was somewhere high above the trees further up the slope. It was easy enough going, but I was braced all the way for the sound and impact of a shot. I vaulted a couple of fallen trees, tore through a section of bushes, but all the time keeping as close to the water as possible. It was hot work and the temptation to stop and splash my face was huge, but I kept moving, leading the men further away from the parking lot into denser trees.
I was counting on at least one of them having radio contact with the Ansat, and if he did and failed to keep up with me, sooner or later he’d bring the helicopter back into play.
And that’s exactly what they did.
I heard shouting, and a series of whistles. They were signals, keeping each other appraised of their positions so that they didn’t run into each other – or worse, start shooting at the wrong target. Then I heard a familiar sound. It began as a rumble and became a thudding, and when I looked out over the water I saw the Ansat wheeling down and round and coming in towards me like an arrow.
The sheepdog had found the target.
I stayed close to the water’s edge and stepped in front of a large pine tree, keeping it at my back. I was deliberately making no attempt to hide from the helicopter, and figured the pilot had me in his sights and was transmitting the information to the two men on the ground. The trees around me were silent now, save for a faint hiss of wind through the branches, and the rain had reduced in volume to a slight drizzle.
It was kind of spooky, watching the Ansat coming in at me and how everything else around me seemed to pause as if holding its breath.
I heard the snap of a branch on the slope behind me. A hundred feet away, at a guess. One of the men must have worked his way round, seeking to keep the advantage of height while leaving his colleague to move down and take me from the side.
Clever move. This was as close to being bracketed as I wanted to get. Now it was time to change the game.
The vibration from the helicopter was increasing as it closed in, and I felt the downdraft effect on the trees around me, and saw a mist of spray lifting off the water.
I stayed where I was, watching the Ansat. The two men in the cockpit were looking right back, probably trying to figure out what I was doing and why I wasn’t running.
Cat and mouse.
I waited until they were a hundred and fifty yards out, then lifted the Val and fired the last two shots. I was aiming at the cockpit and through the scope saw both shots strike home, scarring the glass.
The Ansat wobbled. It was pretty unnerving, seeing two bullets smash into the glass right in front of you, and I could imagine the conversation going on inside.
I was right; the pilot turned his craft, but he wasn’t running. Instead he was presenting the open doorway, where one of the passengers was standing, assault rifle to his shoulder ready to open fire.
But by then I had tossed the empty Val into the water and slipped behind the tree, giving him no target to aim at.
He hesitated, probably asking for more details of my position, so I gave him what he wanted. I edged round the tree and fired two shots with the Saiga, the noise after the silenced Val dramatically loud in comparison. For a moment nothing happened. Then the man in the doorway dropped sideways and disappeared from sight.
Another one down. But I nearly didn’t get to see it.
The response was fast and furious. The man I’d shot was replaced by another, who simply hosed down the area where he thought I might be, changed magazines and repeated the exercise until the helicopter pilot decided he’d had enough and pulled away out over the water. Most of the shots went into the trees high over my head, and I heard a shout from one of the men on the slope behind me, who must have felt the wind of a passing bullet.
Rough justice. But it didn’t stop them.
Two shots came from above me, slamming into the tree by my shoulder and tearing off a great chunk of bark. Moments later two more came from my right, snapping through the branc
hes overhead and sending down a shower of debris. Damn, the other guy had moved very fast and figured out where I was. He’d also given his partner the opportunity to move while I was distracted, a clear signal if I’d needed it that they knew what they were doing.
I heard a scuff of noise. It sounded like the brush of combat jacket material against branches and came from just a few yards away. They badly wanted to finish this and were coming in fast, taking chances and banking on me keeping out of their way and not exposing myself.
Another noise, this one closer. I stood up and swung the Saiga, and focussed on a figure coming out of cover thirty yards away. He was moving fast and heading slightly away from me. I fired twice but missed.
I should have turned and raced away along the shore towards the car. At least, that’s what he would have expected me to do. But the helicopter was still out there and I knew that was what they would be waiting for. The moment I tried to cross open ground to the pickup, the men in the Ansat would have me in their sights.
Instead I faced up the slope and veered right, effectively running between the two men.
Suddenly a small tree to my right exploded under a hail of gunfire coming from my rear. I threw myself to the ground, desperately twisting round to cover my rear and flank. In the same instant, a figure came charging out of the trees, rifle levelled ready to finish me off.
I pulled the trigger and caught him high on the shoulder. But it wasn’t enough to stop him; he staggered but kept coming.
Then the game changed altogether. Three shots, sounding flat, loud and very fast came from up the slope to his right.
Handgun?
The effect was stunning. Already in full motion coming towards me, the man was hit from the side and knocked clean off his feet. He dropped into a pile of brushwood, the rifle spinning away and slamming into a tree. I could see he’d been hit badly and wasn’t about to offer any further resistance, but I wasn’t about to stick my head up and see how he was doing. Then a movement showed higher up the slope on my left and I spun round, finger tightening on the trigger.
Hard Cover Page 26