by Chris Ryan
‘The bomb,’ Ben asked Ricki. ‘Is it really big enough to take out the whole dam?’
Ricki exchanged a meaningful look with the rest of his crew. ‘If it’s what I think it is,’ he said, ‘then yes. I’ve heard of these suitcase nukes. We all have. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they existed – you know, just part of military folklore. The Russians made them back in the nineteen seventies, but they’ve all been lost.’
‘Or hidden,’ Toby interrupted.
‘Or stolen,’ added Jack.
Ricki nodded in agreement. ‘Whatever happened to them,’ he said, ‘rumour is they have an explosive capability of a couple of kilotons.’
‘Is that a lot?’ Ben asked.
Ricki nodded. ‘Forget the Kajaki dam,’ he said. ‘That’s enough to take out Niagara Falls.’
Ben couldn’t help feeling slightly sick at the thought.
The pilot was wearing his NV goggles now. Suddenly his radio burst into life. ‘Attention Alpha Three Tango’ – an urgent voice came over the loudspeaker – ‘Attention Alpha Three Tango. Do you copy? Over.’
The pilot replied with a calm, steady voice. ‘This is Alpha Three Tango. We copy. Over.’
‘We have an emergency situation, Alpha Three Tango. Forward Operating Base Jackson. Enemy advancing on the FOB. Several men down and one British civilian on the ground, a Dr Bel Kelland. All available helicrews diverted to assist. Over.’
Ben’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. ‘That’s my mum!’ he screamed. ‘Ricki, that’s my mum. We’ve got to turn back!’
But Ricki said nothing. It was the pilot’s call to answer. ‘This is Alpha Three Tango. Currently on course for Kajaki. Priority one, repeat, priority one. Cannot divert. You must have other guys in the area.’
‘Affirmative,’ came the reply. ‘Alpha Three Tango, you are cleared to continue your operation. Over.’
‘Roger that,’ the pilot replied. ‘Over and out.’
‘NO!’ Ben screamed. ‘We can’t just leave her there!’ He got to his feet.
Instantly, Ricki pushed him back down. ‘No one’s leaving anyone anywhere, Ben. If your mum’s in trouble, they’ll be sending air crews in to extract her right now.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Ben. Listen to me. If she’s at FOB Jackson, the most important thing you can do is stick with us. That base is right by the river. If the dam blows, she’ll be underwater before you know it.’
Ben stared at him. Everything seemed to be crashing around about his ears. First Aarya, now his mum. Amir’s face, with its one milky eye, hovered on the edge of his vision. The very thought of him made Ben’s lip curl.
The SAS man stared back at him. A cool, level gaze. He could tell there was no way he’d be changing his mind.
‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘Let’s go and sort this out.’ Ben looked out of the window, and watched the Afghan darkness slip by.
At FOB Jackson, a weird silence had descended. Weird and terrible. Darkness all around. The dead soldier lay in front of the gates, motionless. No one could get to his body because to do so would mean stepping into the enemy’s line of fire. There was an occasional burst from the GPMG, but Bel sensed that these were just warning shots. As if to confirm this suspicion, Mears hissed: ‘They haven’t got a fix on the enemy. They don’t know where they are.’
Bel closed her eyes and tried to get rid of the utter dread that was seeping through her body. She thought of Ben, and of Russell, her husband. Where were they now? Did they have any idea of what was happening? Would she ever see them again?
A noise in the distance, from somewhere overhead. Mears breathed out a heavy sigh of relief.
‘What?’ Bel asked.
‘Apache,’ he replied.
‘A what?’
‘An Apache attack helicopter.’
‘How can you tell?’
Mears shrugged. ‘You get used to the sound. It’ll be here any second.’
He wasn’t wrong. Before Bel knew what was happening, the noise became louder and she could discern the sound of rotary blades.
A flash of light from the sky, then the Apache flew overhead, incredibly low – only metres above the wall of the compound, like some huge spirit in the sky. The beams of light shooting from it lit up the compound, illuminating both the dead and the living. The noise of the blades pulsated through Bel’s body as it slipped over the compound and hovered just outside the gates.
And then it fired.
The noise of the attack helicopter’s weapons made the GPMG sound like a toy gun. It fired short bursts, and although Bel couldn’t see what was happening, she could well imagine how destructive they were.
She never thought a weapon of such destruction would bring her such relief.
She found herself holding her breath. Mears put his head over the top of the sandbags and Bel followed suit, just in time to see the Apache rise into view again above the compound walls. It hovered there for a few seconds.
And then it happened.
Bel didn’t hear the sound of the ground fire above the noise of the chopper. But she definitely saw its effects. A flash of red as a blast hit the Apache, just below the rotary blades, and the huge metal machine suddenly started to spin dangerously out of control. The beams of light flashed then receded like some terrifying fairground attraction. There wouldn’t be any candy floss tonight, though.
‘What’s happening?’ Bel shrieked. ‘What’s happening?’ For once, Mears didn’t have an answer. He too looked on in shocked astonishment as the Apache, twirling now like some sort of demented, shining spinning top, sank from view.
And then came the explosion.
It made the walls of the compound shake. A great ball of fire rose up into the air – even from where Bel was hiding she could feel the heat – and an enormous, dull red mushroom cloud billowed up into the sky.
‘Apache down! Apache down!’ Somebody was screaming the news at the top of their voice, even though there was really no need. There couldn’t have been a single person in the vicinity of that explosion who didn’t know what had just happened.
Suddenly Bel felt Mears pulling at her arm. ‘We need to get to the back of the compound!’ he shouted. ‘Away from the chopper.’
‘Why?’
‘Those Apaches carry Hellfire missiles. If one of those goes off, they’ll take out the front of the compound and who knows what else. Run, quickly!’
Bel did as she was told, and they weren’t the only ones who had that idea. Six or seven soldiers ran with them, and as they hit the back wall of the compound, they formed a protective ring around Bel with their rifles pointing directly towards the entrance. Through the blown-apart gates Bel could see thick black smoke and orange flames. Her thoughts turned to the pilot of the Apache. There was no way he could have survived that.
The body count, Bel realized, was mounting. ‘How many men on those things?’ she screamed.
‘Two,’ a voice replied.
Her whole body was trembling now. It was like the worst nightmare she’d ever had, only there was going to be no waking up from this. Mears was next to her, his own breathing heavy and trembling. ‘The enemy won’t want to approach,’ he said. ‘Not with the Apache burning between us and them.’ He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than Bel.
‘But . . . but . . .’ Bel was finding it difficult to speak. ‘Will they send another helicopter? We need someone to get us out of here. You said we were surrounded!’
Mears kept his weapon pointed at the entrance and didn’t look at her. ‘They’ll have to be careful,’ he said tersely. ‘Normally those Apaches scatter the enemy as soon as they appear – just make them run away. If that didn’t happen, it means they’re confident. I don’t know what they used to shoot the thing down, but our commanders aren’t going to want to send in another one until they know what they’re dealing with.’
‘But it’s night-time,’ Bel said. ‘How are they going to find out?’
Mears breathed out deeply. ‘I don’t know, Dr Kelland. I just don’t know.’
Fear and frustration almost overcame Bel. She felt her knees going weak. ‘Well, what are we going to do in the meantime?’ she hissed.
Graves turned to look at her. His young face was determined but serious. ‘The only thing we can do,’ he said. ‘Wait for reinforcements. And until they come, defend ourselves to the last . . .’
Chapter Nineteen
Ben felt the Black Hawk losing height. They were coming in to land, but through the window of the chopper, he could see nothing but darkness.
‘Where are we?’ he asked.
Ricki waited until they were on firm ground before he answered. ‘About half a mile from a small town called Angoor.’
‘Shouldn’t we go straight to the dam? I mean, if that’s where Amir’s headed . . .’
Ricki shook his head. ‘The dam’s being watched by British troops. They’ll let us know if they see anyone approaching, but we want to find this guy before he gets close. Angoor’s an enemy stronghold. That means no troops. It’s the closest place to the dam that Amir could be sure of not bumping into ISAF forces. We’re going to ask a few questions, see if anyone can put us on the right track.’
‘Right,’ Ben said. ‘Doesn’t that, er . . . doesn’t that make it kind of dangerous for us?’
Ricki nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It does. We’ve landed at a distance, so we need to approach the town on foot. When we’re there, we’re going to ask a few people a few questions.’
‘Who?’
The SAS man winked. ‘Wait and see,’ he said. His face became serious again. He held up his rifle. ‘Listen carefully, Ben. You’re not armed and you’re not going to be. But if anything happens to the rest of us, you need to know how to use one of these.’
Ben looked apprehensively at the weapon.
‘This is an M sixteen,’ Ricki continued. As he spoke, he pointed out the different parts of the weapon. ‘This is the trigger. You know what that does. This is the safety catch. It’s on at the moment, but you can switch it to semi-automatic or fully automatic. On semi-automatic the gun will fire one shot every time the trigger is pulled. On automatic, the weapon will continue firing until the magazine is exhausted or you take your finger off the trigger. Have you got that?’
‘Yes,’ Ben replied. ‘I think so.’
Ricki pointed to the other side of the weapon. ‘This is the magazine release catch. This thing coming out of the bottom is the magazine. Holds thirty rounds. Once you’ve loaded a new magazine you pull back these two lugs.’ He indicated a lever at the back of the weapon. ‘When you’ve done that, your weapon’s fully loaded, so the safety catch has to be on unless you’re going to discharge it.’
‘I’m sort of hoping I won’t have to.’
‘Me too,’ said Ricki. At the back of the weapon there was an extendable telescopic arm. ‘This digs into your shoulder to keep your gun steady,’ he went on. ‘Flick this switch here to move it in and out and get it into a comfortable firing position.’ He held the weapon up and tapped on a cylindrical object at the top. ‘This is a hologram sighting system. Look through it.’
Ben did as he was told.
‘Do you see a red dot?’
‘Yeah, I see it.’
‘That’s where the rounds will fall.’ He lowered the gun. ‘This tube at the end of the barrel is a suppressor. It silences the sound of the gunfire. We use these so that if we’re in a contact situation, it’s difficult for the enemy to locate our position.’ He gave Ben an extremely serious look. ‘Listen to me, Ben. This thing is not a toy. The sights aren’t zeroed in to your eye and you’ve never fired one before. You only touch it if you’re in the worst case scenario. Have you got that?’
Ben nodded.
‘OK.’
At the back of the chopper there was a flight case. Ricki opened it and pulled out a number of stained Afghan robes. ‘Dishdash,’ he said curtly as he handed them round. He gave one to Ben. ‘This should fit you,’ he said. ‘We’re never going to look like Afghans, but if we put these over our clothes, we should merge into the background a bit better, and for longer.’
Ben pulled his robe over his head. It was heavy and made from a coarse, uncomfortable cloth. It also didn’t smell that good. He noticed that the others kept their M16s hidden under their dishdashes: in seconds they’d gone from looking like awesome fighting machines to regular guys.
‘Let’s go,’ Rick instructed.
The team dismounted from the protective metal casing of the Black Hawk onto the stony earth. Almost immediately the chopper rose into the sky.
‘Where’s it going now?’ Ben shouted. ‘To get my mum?’
‘Don’t count on it,’ Ricki replied. ‘It’ll go wherever it’s told. Those things are in short supply in Helmand. There’s always a call for them somewhere.’ He looked into the distance towards the town. ‘We walk in single file. Ben, you stay at the back and try to follow in our footsteps.’
‘Why?’
‘Landmines,’ Ricki said.
Ben frowned, then nodded.
As the chopper disappeared, silence surrounded them. Silence, and darkness. Ben felt horribly vulnerable as he followed the unit through the desert sands, trying not to think too hard about where he was putting his feet. Half of him didn’t want to reach the town of Angoor; half of him couldn’t wait to get out of the desert and away from the threat of landmines.
They walked in silence for at least half an hour before the boundary wall of the town approached. Even in the darkness, Ben could tell that it was made from the same material as the walls of the compounds he had been in: some sort of mud and straw mixture, baked hard by the sun. It looked very old. The unit skirted around the wall until they came to an opening – a rough arch, unguarded. They slipped inside.
The outskirts of the town were almost deserted. The SAS team wove their way between the walls of compounds that made up this part of town. Occasionally an Afghan national would appear at the end of one of these side streets; without exception, they would melt immediately into the darkness, looks of suspicion on their faces.
‘Ever get the feeling,’ Ricki muttered once this had happened for the third time, ‘that you’re not really wanted?’
‘You can say that again,’ Toby replied. Ben just stayed silent.
Angoor was not a big town, and so it wasn’t long before the compounds in the outskirts were replaced with single-storey buildings that looked like they were made of concrete. The streets which they lined were wider, but still stony and rubble-strewn. There had clearly been fighting here in the not-too-distant past: many of the buildings were peppered with bullet holes and a few had even been destroyed. Some of the buildings had metal shutters closed down over them – shops, Ben assumed, but closed now it was dark. There were piles of rubber tyres dotted around, and big sheets of rusty corrugated iron propped up against buildings for no apparent reason. A smell of diesel permeated the air. This wasn’t a nice place.
There were more people here too, mostly men who eyed them darkly as they passed. A few of them had mobile phones held to their ears. Ben was taken aback to see them, but there were enough phones around for him to realize they were commonplace. To his surprise, there were a number of vehicles lining the street: beaten-up trucks here and there, but more frequently motorcycles. ‘It’s how the enemy like to get around,’ Ricki told him quietly. Ben just nodded.
Their weapons might have been hidden, but they clearly weren’t fooling everybody. The further they walked, the more attention they attracted. Groups of men congregated in the evening darkness and gazed at them with unfriendly stares as they passed. More than once, Ben saw rifles slung across their backs, though thankfully nothing as heavy-duty as the M16s the SAS team were carrying under their robes. Behind them, he heard the low hum of a motorbike. Somebody was following them, and they weren’t making much attempt to be subtle about it. The unit just carried on, grim-faced and alert. They seem
ed to know what they were looking for, and they weren’t going to be put off by the unfriendly, dangerous atmosphere.
A street corner. And standing there, smoking a cigarette and eyeing them uncertainly, was a man in uniform. The unit stopped.
‘Stick close to us, Ben,’ Ricki said.
‘What’s happening?’ Ben breathed.
‘You see the guy on the corner?’
Ben nodded.
‘Afghan national police. Some of them are fine. Some of them I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw them. But if there’s any buzz on the street about something going down, these guys will know.’
‘If you don’t trust him,’ Ben objected, ‘how do you know he’s going to tell you the truth?’
Ricki just raised an eyebrow. ‘Trick of the trade,’ he said mysteriously, then led the unit across the road to the Afghan policeman.
The policeman had the butt of his rifle on the ground and was leaning against it. He continued to smoke his cigarette as the unit approached, finally breathing out a lungful of smoke into Ricki’s face as the SAS man stood in front of him. He went to take another drag, but Ricki grabbed the cigarette from between his fingers and threw it to the floor.
‘Bad for your health, my friend,’ he said. ‘You should give up.’
The policeman’s eyes widened. He straightened up a little.
‘Another thing that’s bad for your health,’ Ricki continued, ‘is not doing what we ask.’ As he spoke, he raised his dishdash slightly to reveal the end of his M16. ‘You speak English?’
The policeman didn’t reply, but he nodded warily.
‘We’re looking for someone,’ Ricki said. ‘Ben here’s going to tell you what he looks like, and you’re going to tell me if he’s been seen. Do you understand?’
The policeman shrugged. Ricki turned to Ben. ‘All right, Ben,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s hear it.’