by Chris Ryan
It had taken less than a minute to clear the cave.
‘All right lads,’ Jack instructed. ‘Final check, then let’s get the hell out of here and on the blower back to base.’
They knew what he meant. Each man removed the IR filter from his torch, filling the cave with white light once again, then delivered final headshots to each of the corpses. Nobody wanted any of the targets doing a Lazarus on them.
When the unit was satisfied that they were all dead, they didn’t look back. They just returned swiftly to the mouth of the cave, where Fly and Dunc were waiting for them.
‘Zero Alpha, this is Delta Five One. Over.’
‘Zero Alpha, send.’
Jack spoke clearly into the sat phone. ‘Targets down, location secured.’
‘Roger that. Nice work, Jack. The bird’s leaving base now.’
Jack gave a quick double-click on the pressel to indicate that he’d understood, then looked at his watch. 04.24 hrs. First light in thirty-five minutes. It would take the Chinook fifteen minutes to get here, which only gave them twenty minutes until the sun peeped above the horizon and they’d be lit up for anyone with a pair of eyes. He just hoped that their guest – whoever it was – wouldn’t want to stick around.
Each member of the unit had taken up a position around the mouth of the cave, pointing their weapons out into the darkness. The cover of night gave them a certain amount of protection, but it also obscured any enemy who might decide to attack.
Jack was on one knee, his weapon engaged as he scanned the desert in front of him. Nothing moved – at least nothing that he could see. He heard Red whisper to one side of him. ‘Looks like the Taliban are still sleeping soundly. Perhaps they had a nice cup of Ovaltine before they hit the sack.’
Jack inclined his head. Sometimes silence could be more ominous than noise. After all, if he were trying to sneak up on someone, they wouldn’t know he was there until they were dead.
‘It’s quiet for now,’ he said. ‘Another chopper landing on their turf might be a nice little alarm call for them, though.’ His eyes continued to cast left to right, right to left, moving out in concentric circles as he scanned for anything that might indicate a threat: movement, shadow, silhouettes.
But all he saw was stillness. And all he heard was silence. The kind of thick, impenetrable silence that arrives just before dawn. And then, very faintly at first, but getting gradually louder, the unmistakable buzz of a Chinook in the distance.
They didn’t see it until it had practically landed, then they felt it as the force of the twin rotary blades billowed clouds of sand into the air, stinging their faces and catching in the back of their throats. Jack looked up into the sky through the lenses of his NV. Against the stars he saw the faint, flickering shadow of what he knew to be an Apache attack helicopter escorting the Chinook and threatening with its Hellfires anyone who wanted to take a potshot at that workhorse of a chopper. If the sight of a Chinook encouraged the enemy to grab their surface-to-air weaponry, the sight of an Apache encouraged them to run like hell.
Fly and Dunc ran towards the Chinook while the rest of the unit covered them from the cave mouth. The tailgate opened and through the dust storm Jack saw a figure emerge from inside. Fly and Dunc grabbed one arm each and hustled the newcomer towards the cave, just as the tailgate closed up again. By the time they had reached the cave mouth, the Chinook was already in the air again.
The figure spoke. ‘Which one of you is Jack Harker?’ It was a brusque voice, full of authority. It was also a female voice.
Jesus, Jack thought, thinking of the female he’d just nailed back in the cave. It’s turning into the fucking Women’s Institute out here.
The new arrival wore desert camo and full body armour. The standard-issue helmet didn’t disguise the fact that she was strikingly good-looking, even here. Pale skin, high cheekbones and little strands of auburn hair peeking from underneath her helmet.
‘Me,’ Jack said, stepping towards her.
‘All right,’ the newcomer replied with surprising confidence. ‘Let’s go. Show me what you’ve found.’
Jack looked over at Red. His friend had what could only be described as a smirk on his face; he didn’t need to look at the others to realise that they’d be finding the way this chick talked to their unit leader funny. Jack ignored it. ‘Red,’ he commanded, ‘come with me. The rest of you, keep watch.’
The men took up their positions again.
‘Do you have a name?’ Jack asked the woman. ‘Or is that a secret as well?’
‘No secret,’ she replied crisply. ‘Caroline Stenton.’
‘All right then, Miss Stenton—’
‘Professor Stenton . . .’
Jack and Red glanced at each other.
‘All right then, Professor Stenton. Let’s get the hell inside, shall we?’
The woman nodded and strode immediately into the cave mouth. Jack ran ahead of her then turned, blocking her way. ‘Keep between me and Red,’ he instructed, ‘and do what I tell you.’
‘My understanding,’ Stenton said, still walking, ‘is that you’re to follow my orders while I’m on the ground.’
Another glance between the two Regiment men. Jack grabbed her by the arm. ‘My understanding,’ he hissed, ‘is that you’d like to fucking stay alive. I go in front, then you, then Red.’
A pause.
‘Do yourself a favour, missie,’ Red murmured, ‘and listen to the man.’
Stenton’s eyes hardened, but she said nothing as Jack switched on the Maglite torch clamped to his weapon and, with the butt of his M16 pressed against his shoulder, stepped forward, lighting the way as he went.
With the way properly lit, they reached the side cave quickly. Jack stopped a few metres short of it and turned to Stenton. ‘It’s not pretty in there,’ he said.
Stenton gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not a child,’ she said, before walking past him. ‘Light the way.’
Jack gave a little shrug, walked to the entrance of the cave and illuminated the interior. Stenton looked in and for a moment her face was expressionless. After a few seconds, however, Jack watched as their guest twigged exactly what she was looking at.
It was carnage inside. Dead bodies littered the floor, their limbs contorted into whatever position they had fallen. Sides of faces had been blown away; skin was spattered in blood; thick grey brain matter lay in viscous pools around them. Caroline stared at the woman Jack had killed. Her long dark hair was matted and bloodied, her torso was mashed up, the exit wound from her skull had distorted her head and her expression was one of gruesome, unrestrained terror.
‘How many times did you shoot that woman?’ Stenton asked.
Jack sniffed. ‘Nine or ten.’
Her face hardened. ‘Why did you have to shoot her ten times?’ she asked.
Jack gave her a direct look. ‘I ran out of bullets,’ he said.
Stenton took a short, sharp breath. She didn’t reply, but instead just stepped inside, walking round the dead woman and up to the nearest workbench, where the metal flight case still sat with blood spattered over its surface. Stenton looked down at it, then around the cave in general.
‘Any more containers like this?’ she asked.
Jack shook his head. ‘Didn’t see any. But we had our mind on other things.’
‘Search,’ she replied. ‘Now.’
It didn’t take long. The cave was big, but the equipment was localised in a small area. Stenton helped with the search, and within a couple of minutes appeared satisfied that there was nothing there to warrant further attention from her. She turned to the two Regiment men. ‘All right,’ she said, pointing at the flight case. ‘We’re taking that with us. You might find it’s heavy.’ She eyed Jack up and down, and an arch smile crept on to her lips. ‘Then again, maybe not.’
It took two of them to lift it, so Jack detached the Maglite from his M16 and handed it to the woman. ‘Lead the way,’ he said.
Stenton raised
an eyebrow. ‘Sure it’s safe?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ Jack replied. ‘But unless you want to carry the container—’
‘Do us all a favour,’ Stenton interrupted, ‘and don’t drop that thing, OK.’
‘So I take it we’re not transporting poppies.’
Stenton looked away. ‘So you’re not just a pretty face after all, Captain Harker.’
She stepped into the corridor.
04.52 hrs.
‘Eight minutes till sunrise,’ Jack announced as they laid the container down on the sand next to one of the boulders. ‘Fly, get on the radio. I want to be on that Chinook before the sun comes up. And you can tell our MoD friend there’s no need for him to stick to his half-arsed, fucked-up horseshit about this being a poppy-processing plant.’
‘Those exact words?’ Fly asked with a half smile.
‘No,’ Jack replied. ‘Don’t be so polite.’
Fly nodded and immediately got on to the sat phone. ‘This is Delta Five One. Do you copy?’
‘How long before they arrive?’ Caroline Stenton asked as Fly communicated with the ops centre back at Bastion.
Jack shrugged. ‘Depends where they’re turning and burning. With a bit of luck, no more than a couple of minutes.’
Fly approached them. ‘New orders,’ he said. ‘We’re to put the Professor on the Chinook with her goody bag. The rest of us are waiting behind to bring fast air on to target.’
Jack’s eyes narrowed. ‘Bullshit,’ he hissed. ‘They know our fucking location.’ He grabbed the sat phone. ‘This is Harker,’ he stated. ‘What are you fucking playing at? We’re about to lose the darkness and we’ve got enemy strongholds on two sides. We don’t have to be on the ground to direct the air strike. We’re coming back on that Chinook.’
A crackly pause. And then a voice on the other end, which Jack recognised as belonging to the MoD goon back at Bastion.
‘Negative,’ it said. ‘We’re monitoring Taliban Icom chatter. They are unaware of your movements. Repeat, they are unaware of your movements. Your instructions are to laser mark the cave entrance from a distance. We’ll send a chopper in to pick you up once the caves are destroyed.’
Jack shoved the sat phone back at Fly. ‘Idiots,’ he hissed. He looked out into the desert – the black night was turning to the steely grey of dawn. They were going to be lit up like a fucking Christmas tree any minute now. He spoke into the radio again. ‘We don’t need eight men to lase the cave. I’m sending four back in the Chinook.’
A pause. And then . . .
‘Affirmative.’
Jack scowled. He turned to Stenton. ‘Looks like they want to make very sure your little cave system gets permanently put out of action.’
‘It’s not my cave system,’ Stenton replied. At least she had the decency to look concerned about Jack’s outburst. Not that Jack gave a shit. He knew he’d have to decide who was staying and who was going.
‘Red, stay with me. We’ll RV with Pixie and Al.’ As he spoke he heard the sound of the Chinook approaching. ‘The rest of you,’ he shouted over the noise of the chopper, ‘back to base. No questions. You’re escorting the Prof back to Bastion. Get on with it.’
Shaking their heads, the unit started gathering their gear. Jack nodded at Red and the two of them picked up the container once more.
‘Don’t drop it!’ Stenton shouted over the noise of the aircraft touching down. Jack and Red ignored her and hurried with the flight case towards the back of the Chinook where the tailgate was already opening. They carried it up into the belly of the helicopter, then laid it carefully on the ground. Stenton was right by them. She held out one hand to Jack. ‘Nice to meet you, Captain Harker,’ she said, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Jack just gave her a flat, unfriendly stare, then turned and alighted from the aircraft along with Red just as Fly, Dunc, Dukey and Frankie got on.
The tailgate rose, then the chopper lifted into the air and flew off, its Apache chaperone hovering close above it, leaving the remaining members of the unit on the ground.
05.13 hrs.
Jack and Red hadn’t waited around. The sky was getting brighter by the minute. They’d immediately headed south again into the desert, moving silently and keeping to the low ground as they hurried the klick to where Pixie was on stag, signalled to Al to join them, then turned to look back at the hills where the cave system was located.
‘I’ll sort it,’ said Pixie.
‘Make sure you use your good eye,’ said Red. ‘I don’t want you lasing my arsehole.’
Pixie grinned at him. He carried the laser target designator twenty metres away up a gentle slope so that he had a direct line of sight back north towards the hills; then he clicked the khaki scope on to its small tripod before crouching down and peering through the viewfinder and focusing the apparatus on the cave mouth. There was a small whirring of machinery as Pixie charged up the LTD.
Jack got back on the sat phone while Red and Frankie took up positions on either side of him, pointing their weapons to the west and east.
‘Zero Alpha, this is Delta Five One. We’re in position. Over.’
A crackle. ‘Roger that.’ It was Matt Cooper, the ops officer. ‘Fast air two minutes away. We’ll have you out of there very soon, Jack.’
Jack didn’t reply. They held their position and waited for the F-16 to arrive.
Silence on the radio.
‘Come on,’ Jack muttered. ‘Come on, come on, come on . . .’
They waited.
A burst of activity from the radio.
‘Delta Five One! Delta Five One! You’ve got company!’
Jack grabbed the handset. ‘What the fuck do you mean?’
‘Icom chatter. Jack, you’ve got Taliban approaching from the south, the west and the east. They think they know where you are. They’re less than five hundred metres away.’
‘How many?’
‘Impossible to say, but they sound confident.’
‘Exfiltrate us now!’ Jack roared. ‘Now, Matt!’
‘The chopper’s on its way.’
‘How long?’
A pause.
‘How fucking long, Matt?’
‘Three minutes. Coming in from the north.’
Three minutes. In situations like this, it was a lifetime. Jack addressed Red and Al. ‘Did you get all that?’
‘Yeah,’ Al spat. ‘We got it. How the fuck did they get so close without us seeing them?’
The same thought had been going through Jack’s head. ‘They must have clocked us the moment we landed.’ He shouted up at Pixie. ‘Have you lased the target?’
Pixie looked over his shoulder and held up one thumb.
‘Get down!’ Jack shouted.
But too late.
The round came from the west, hitting Pixie square in his left shoulder. The SAS man fell to the ground, knocking the LTD on to its side. The remaining three members of the unit acted immediately. Red started firing slow, regular shots into the air towards where the round had come from; Al covered them to the east with one Minimi and Jack to the south with another while they moved, as quickly as they could, up towards where Pixie was lying.
He was still alive, but his shoulder was buggered. His arm was hanging limply and it was immediately obvious to Jack that he was going to lose it. His face was white and sweating and his breathing was short and irregular. Jack lowered his weapon and pulled out a morphine injection from his ops waistcoat, quickly breaking off the safety tab at the end of its plastic coffin and punching it down through Pixie’s clothes and into the skin of his thigh. He didn’t say anything – no words of comfort, no ‘We’re going to get you out of here,’ because he knew Pixie didn’t want any of that bullshit.
And besides, there wasn’t time.
Jack could see the enemy now, advancing on three sides, their heads appearing and disappearing behind the undulating terrain. The ones coming from the west were the closest – about fifty metres away. Jack turned t
o Al, who had the LASM slung over his shoulder.
‘Let them have it!’
Al didn’t need telling twice. He lowered his rifle. Getting down on one knee he rested the back end of the LASM over his right shoulder, took a moment to correct his aim, and then fired.
A whizzing sound, then an immense bang as the thermobaric round found its target to the south. It had an immediate effect on the advancing enemy, who hit the ground and started shouting. Jack knew it wouldn’t keep them back for long, though, and they still had Taliban advancing from two other sides, over the brow of the ridges to the west and east. They were seventy-five metres away and swarming.
A thumping sound.
‘RPG!’ Red shouted, and the three men standing hit the ground. Jack felt a sharp rush of air as the grenade whizzed over them, missing them by inches but starbursting twenty-five metres beyond them – sufficiently far away for its shrapnel to miss them, but only by a metre or so.
Pixie’s whole body was shaking now. He needed attention, and fast, but they were pinned down, unable to move. ‘We need that fucking chopper!’ Al bellowed.
And it was just as he spoke that the Black Hawk appeared over the brow of the hills to the north, a kilometre away. It sped towards them, skirting low above the desert – so low that it kicked up clouds of sand as it went. Seconds later it was hovering right above them, filling their ears with the noise of its engines.
It hung in the air for a moment, thirty metres high. And then its gunner started firing in bursts.
Thirty-cal rounds from the chopper’s minigun ripped through the air, accompanied by the orange light of tracer rounds like molten metal and the mechanical chugging of the weapon. The gunner fired first towards the westernmost flank of the advancing enemy. Then the Black Hawk spun in the air, moving in a semicircle so its weaponry hit the enemy to the south and then to the east, before going back on itself to give them all a second helping. The guns fell silent and the aircraft lowered itself down on to the sand, no more than five metres from where Jack was standing.
Jack, Red and Al moved quickly. Jack handed Red his M16, then he and Al each grabbed one end of Pixie’s body while Red, a rifle in each hand, fired quick single rounds towards the enemy. The side door of the chopper was already open – Jack recognised a couple of lads from the Parachute Regiment inside. They helped him and Al get Pixie on board.