by Andy McNab
‘Then let’s just get back,’ said Liam. ‘I don’t like us being out here thinking that someone possibly wanted us here in the first place, if you know what I mean.’
Cowell’s eyes were dark. ‘Ambush?’
‘You said it, not me,’ replied Liam. ‘But we were sent out here for a reason, and I’m guessing that reason isn’t just to have a laugh at our expense, is it?’
Cowell glanced back to where the weapons were supposed to have been hidden. Liam did the same, then scanned back, looking again for any sign of movement, any hint that they were about to have a contact.
‘Agreed,’ said Cowell, ‘Right, Scott, get back with your fire team. We’re heading back. But keep your senses keen. Some fucker sent us out here and for all we know they’re watching.’
Liam was back with Clint and the others. ‘We’re heading back,’ he explained. ‘There’s a big fuck-off hole, but no weapons. Hasn’t been used in ages.’
‘How do you know weapons were ever there at all?’ asked Rob. ‘Could be just a big hole that we should drop X-Factor in for wasting our time.’
Liam understood Rob’s sentiment. They were all pissed off about heading out and finding nothing.
‘The place is clean except for a few shells and a dead spider,’ he said. ‘That’s it.’
‘So what now?’ Clint asked. ‘We just head back?’
Liam looked at the three blokes with him. He trusted them, had seen them fight, knew they were solid. ‘That’s the plan,’ he said. ‘Any thoughts?’
‘About what?’ asked Ade. ‘That we’ve found nothing, or that we’ve come out here in the first place after some bollocks intelligence?’
‘Both,’ said Liam.
Clint spoke with lowered tones, calm, but serious. ‘Doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘Why would anyone send us here for no reason?’
‘That’s what’s bothering me,’ said Liam.
‘If it’s an ambush, why hasn’t it kicked off already?’ questioned Rob.
Cowell came over with his fire team. Liam couldn’t help notice how even out here Neil looked cool, like he was half expecting some paparazzi to pop up for a few candid snaps.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Liam.
‘Then let’s get back,’ said Cowell. ‘I don’t like this. Stirling – on point. Everyone stay alert. Let’s move!’
19
About thirty minutes into the hike back, Clint called over his PRR, ‘Movement. Right. Five hundred. Two o’clock.’
Cowell brought the patrol to a dead stop. ‘Scott? Get your scope on that now.’
‘Already on it,’ said Liam, his weapon – the Sharpshooter – already raised and in his shoulder. Slowly he scanned the area as Clint directed him to where he’d seen movement. ‘What was it? Anything specific?’
‘Wind’s moving everything that way,’ said Clint, pointing his hand forward, ‘but whatever’s out there was pushing grass the opposite way.’
‘Can’t see anything.’
Liam kept his weapon in the shoulder, forcing himself to examine every bit of ground he could.
Then the crack of a rifle split the air. The sound was immediately followed by Clint falling to the ground.
Everyone had seen the muzzle flash. And it hadn’t come from where Clint had seen movement.
‘Return fire!’ yelled Cowell. ‘Fucking have it!’
Liam dropped down next to Clint, scared shitless of what he was going to find as the rest of the patrol opened up on where the muzzle flash had come from.
Clint groaned as Liam did a quick check, but he could see no obvious entry wound, no blood. ‘You’re OK,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask me how, but you are.’
Clint sat up and as he did so Liam saw a hole in his helmet.
‘Christ . . .’ he said. ‘Your helmet . . .’
‘What?’ asked Clint.
‘You have a guardian angel?’ asked Liam.
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Well, the hole in your helmet says different,’ said Liam. ‘The bastard got you, but your kit did its job and kept your head on your shoulders. Close call, mate. Nearly shat myself when you dropped.’
‘Was like someone smashed me in the skull with a cricket bat,’ said Clint, already pushing up and getting his weapon, the LMG, ready to return fire.
‘I think we’ve got a sniper,’ said Liam. ‘Where you saw movement, that wasn’t where the shot came from. The fucker moved.’
Clint was up. ‘Suppressing fire, Eastwood!’ Cowell called over the PRR. ‘Scott, we need to get out before that bastard takes another pot shot! Carter?’
‘Boss?’
‘Stop worrying about your hair and slot that bastard!’
‘On it.’
Clint opened fire. Liam saw Neil run for cover, then his rifle was out and he was scanning for the target.
‘Fire and manoeuvre,’ Cowell ordered. ‘In twos. Shift it!’
With Clint keeping the sniper’s head down, everyone started to move off. Liam stayed with Clint.
‘You see anything?’
‘Nothing,’ said Clint. ‘But he’s probably keeping his head down with all this flying at him.’
Liam wasn’t convinced. ‘Keep firing,’ he said. ‘I’m going to slip back the way we came, try to get eyes on. I’ll be right after. Carter?’
‘Haven’t got a clean shot.’
‘Stay there. I’m heading round, see if I can close in. If you have a shot, take it.’
Clint kept on with the LMG, the rest of the patrol moving out in twos.
Liam scanned the horizon. The first movement had been at two o’clock, but the muzzle flash of the round that had kicked Clint off his feet had come from further round at four.
Slowly, and keeping very low, Liam slipped back the way they had come, this time making sure to put to good use any cover he could find. Just ahead he spotted an old tree stump hidden by scrub and he settled in behind it.
Liam kept calm. It would probably come to nothing, but something was telling him the sniper was moving in behind them to take them out as they retreated back to the compound.
He lay there for a minute, watched as Clint took a final burst, then was up and off. Then, further round but still a way off, he saw something: grass moving against the wind rather than with it, just as Clint had described before. Liam brought the Sharpshooter to his shoulder, levelled the sights on what he’d seen. At first it was just grass, probably an animal. Then he saw something that didn’t fit in with the surroundings, something long, thin and straight. It was what you were always looking out for, telltale signs of unnatural forms, and nature didn’t do stuff in straight lines. It had to be the barrel of a rifle.
Liam flicked off the safety, waited.
Behind the barrel, the person holding it came into view. He was crawling forward, slowly, surely, confidently. Liam was reminded of the last time he’d done this, back in the compound after the wall had been blown apart. That shot had been just over two hundred metres. This one, if he took it, was well over five hundred. It wouldn’t just be testing his own skills, but the capabilities of the weapons system he was now handling.
He took a breath, took another, calmed himself as he brought the crosshairs of the sight down onto the sniper. It was then, as he was about to take the shot, that he realized something: the sniper wasn’t aiming at the patrol, the bastard was aiming at him!
Liam dropped as the report of the sniper’s weapon cracked the silence and the round hammered into the front of the tree stump. The energy of it rippled through the old wood, sending splinters skywards.
Fuck it, thought Liam, he’s after me now. He scanned around for other cover, knowing that to stay where he was would be asking to be shot. There was a shallow ditch about twenty metres away. It was a sprint, but he could make it.
Liam gritted his teeth, rolled to his knees, head down, then bounced up, hammering his legs like he was trying to crack the ground with every step.
Another shot rang out. Liam saw it kick dirt up just ahead of him. He skidded into the ditch then crawled away from where he’d landed.
Everything was quiet. Now Liam had a choice – run to catch up with the patrol and risk getting shot, or take the sniper on? He slipped up the side of the ditch, keeping himself hidden behind a small bush, and allowed his eyes to get used to what they were seeing, which to begin with wasn’t much. But he quickly identified where the sniper had been when he’d taken the shot. He didn’t expect him to be still there, so he tracked down, then found him. And he was moving fast.
Liam brought his weapon up again, zoned in on the movement in the grass that was betraying the sniper’s path. He couldn’t take a shot until he had a clear line of sight. He didn’t want to risk giving himself away. This one had to count. And he knew that it was him or the other guy, simple as that.
The sniper stopped. Liam saw the weapon brought round. He again eased off the safety. There, filling his sight, was the distant image of the person who’d taken a shot at Clint and was now trying to kill him. They were both staring at each other down their weapons across a distance of at least five hundred metres.
Liam took the shot.
All he saw was the weapon drop suddenly; that was it. He kept his sights on the sniper, chambered another round.
The sniper moved, weapon up again, a shot rang out, clipping the edge of the ditch less than a metre away from where Liam was laid up.
He didn’t flinch, took another shot, and this time he saw the sniper’s head snap back and the rifle fall. Head shot. And there was no getting up from that.
Liam was on his PRR to Cowell. ‘Sniper down,’ he said. ‘Where are you? And where’s Carter?’
‘I’m here,’ Neil said, over the PRR. ‘Awesome shot, Scott. I’ll follow you in.’
‘We’re two hundred metres on,’ said Cowell. ‘We’ll cover both of you, just in case. Move it!’
Liam heard gunfire and was up and sprinting, heart pounding, not just from exertion, but from what had just happened. Neil was close behind. He’d won in the end, come out alive, but he was fully aware of just how close he’d been to finishing his tour with a round in his head.
Back at the compound, everyone was quiet. Liam was cleaning the Sharpshooter rifle. He wanted the weapon spotless.
‘We’ve done a battle damage assessment,’ said Miller, coming over to Liam. ‘No body, but we found blood and shells. It was a hell of a shot. Even Carter was impressed, and that’s saying something. The cocky bastard is sometimes just a little bit too self-assured.’
‘The sniper nearly got me first,’ said Liam.
‘He didn’t, though,’ said Miller, then sat down. ‘What about the cache?’
‘What about it?’
‘Thoughts?’
Liam sat back, his weapon neatly laid out in pieces on a canvas sheet on his bed.
‘I think we’re lucky to have got back,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it was supposed to be a lone sniper.’
‘Is that your gut speaking again?’
Liam smiled a little. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘We were sent out there on crap intelligence. That’s the issue that’s bothering me.’
‘My point exactly,’ said Miller. ‘Cowell’s questioning Shah right now.’
Liam snapped up at this.
‘Shah? What the hell for? It’s not him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘He confirmed the source,’ said Miller. ‘What do you know about him? Really?’
Liam remembered what Zaman had said about his brother being in the Taliban and didn’t want to say.
‘Look, if you know something that is important, you need to tell me. Think, Scott. This is about the safety of everyone here. We need facts. It’s not escaped anyone’s attention that, with all the stuff that’s been going on since we arrived, it’s like someone’s been one step ahead of us all the way.’
Liam sighed. He didn’t want to suggest anything about Zaman, not least because he was sure he could be trusted, but neither could he keep what he knew to himself.
‘He has a brother,’ he said. ‘Only whereas Shah is ANA, his brother is Taliban.’ Then he added, ‘It’s common practice apparently, the family just making sure all bases are covered.’
Miller nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard that happens,’ he said. ‘But it does put a different slant on things, doesn’t it?’ He got up. ‘Well done today,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow we’ve another patrol with the ANA. It’s our final one here before we bug out to the next PB, so we need it to be smooth and by the letter, understand?’
‘Boss,’ nodded Liam.
‘And we’ll all be keeping an eye on Shah,’ Miller said; then he was gone.
Picking up the barrel of the Sharpshooter, ready to start clipping the weapon back together, Liam thought about what had happened that day, and about Zaman. Was he really behind it? Had he been party to them being led into a trap that, in the end, could have been a lot worse?
That night, for the second time in forty-eight hours, he hardly slept.
‘Shah, you’re with me,’ said Liam, as the patrol made ready to leave.
Zaman smiled at Liam. ‘It is a bright day today,’ he said. ‘I heard about what happened yesterday on the patrol. I am glad you are safe.’
Liam had no idea what to say. He didn’t know if Zaman was being genuine, or if he was behind what had happened in the first place. Was he now staring into the face of a man who, behind the smiles and the friendship, had been party to Liam nearly getting killed? It didn’t seem possible, but what had happened over the last two days had got everyone spooked.
‘Me too,’ said Liam.
Clint was next to him. ‘What about the Sharpshooter?’ he said. ‘You’re not taking it with you?’
‘The Sharpshooter is all very well,’ said Liam, ‘but to be honest I’m more comfortable with my SA80. And it’s better for close quarter.’ The weapon, thanks to its bullpup design – with the magazine behind the pistol grip – was unobstructive and quick to bring onto a target.
Cowell pulled everyone together, his and Liam’s fire teams making up their patrol, with Zaman walking with them, alongside the four-man ANA patrol, which would be taking point. Nicky was also tagging along as the patrol was skipping past an occupied compound. If anyone was home, it had been decided a friendly medical drop-by would be a good thing to do, and would help them leave the area on a positive.
‘This is our last walkabout,’ the corporal said. ‘Let’s keep ourselves alert and ready. We don’t want any fuck-ups. Smooth, people, understand?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Right, then let’s move out.’
An hour or so later, Liam, with his fire team all walking in line in front of Cowell’s group, and the ANA patrol up ahead, was already looking forward to the patrol being over. It was cloudier than usual, and a cool breeze was blowing. He could sense that everyone was getting itchy to turn round and head back. Liam felt the same; after what had happened the day before, they were all wondering if someone was out there right now, just waiting for a signal.
About three hundred metres ahead was the compound Nicky was along to visit. It was the only building in the area around them, the rest given over to gullies and bush, rising up behind the compound to a horizon that drew a faint line across the mountains in the distance. The only clear signs that it was the home of a family somehow managing to scrape a life from the rough ground around them were the three goats tethered outside and a small pile of metal cooking pans.
Clint said, ‘You know what, Scott? I can almost taste the brew waiting for us. Hot tea on a hot day: you can’t beat it.’
‘A bottle of ice-cold beer gets pretty close,’ said Liam.
‘Cider,’ said Clint. ‘None of that gassy rubbish either. I’m talking proper stuff. Get it seriously cold, have one on a hot day, and you’re singing!’
‘Please don’t sing,’ said Liam. ‘You’re not exactly Julie Andrews.’
Liam laughed out loud. ‘You do talk some bollocks.’
‘The trouble is,’ said Clint, ‘it’s all true. Every single word.’
An explosion cut the conversation dead.
‘IED!’ Liam called across the PRR, all his senses coming on line, sweeping the area around them for any sign of attack. ‘Man down!’
He wasn’t in charge, Cowell was, but he had responsibility for his fire team and their safety and that of the rest of the patrol.
Liam grabbed Nicky and ran down the line. What met them was a mess. The ANA point man, who was doing James’s job today, was unconscious, and considering what had happened to him, Liam knew that was probably best. From what he could see, both legs were smashed to pieces and the blast had ripped up into his chest and face. Blood was everywhere, mixed with muck and dirt and grit.
Miller and Cowell took control, directing everyone into fire position, ready for attack.
Liam and Nicky approached the injured man. ‘Shit . . .’ It was even worse close up. The soldier’s legs weren’t just smashed, but gone at the knee, with flesh and bone and blood covering an area of about three metres. The V of the explosion had continued its violence further up, taking an arm off just below the shoulder, and peppering his body with fragments of metal and dirt and stone. Liam had seen this before, when his mate Cameron had died on him during his last tour.
‘Keep your head together,’ said Nicky, dropping down at the man’s side. ‘We need medevac immediately.’
Liam grabbed the radio off Ade and called it in. Then the world came apart at the seams as a storm of rounds came in at them from all sides.
Ambush . . .
20
‘Cowboy – keep those bastards’ heads down!’ Liam yelled out over the crack of weapons all around them. ‘Sunter, Stirling – back him up. Anything that moves, shoot it!’
Liam was in full control of his fire team. Trouble was, rounds were coming in from all directions, it seemed, a full hundred-and-eighty-degree arc in front of them. And at its centre, the compound. It was definitely still occupied, though clearly now by the Taliban and not the family they’d hoped to visit.