The helicopter clattered away and he raised his head a fraction and opened his eyes. Directly below him was the body of a woman, blood still congealing around a slash across her throat. He reeled away from it only to see that the woman had been pregnant. Her murderers had thrust a bayonet deep into her womb, half tearing the baby out of her.
Beyond lay another body, and another and another. Young boys had been castrated and left to bleed to death, little girls had been defiled, mutilated and then slaughtered.
Drew began to scream, the unearthly sound echoing around the hamlet as the helicopter turned for another pass. As it closed in there was another, deeper sound, from beyond the mountain ridge Drew had crossed in the night.
There was another burst of machine-gun fire. Only half aware of what he was doing, Drew squirmed deeper into the mound of bodies, pressing himself flat as the lines of bullets marched across the ground towards him. They passed close enough for a chip of stone to draw blood from his forehead and one of the bodies jerked obscenely.
The helicopter wheeled away, back in the direction it had come. There was a roar as an American F16 barrelled across the sky in pursuit.
Teeth chattering, shuddering with horror, Drew fought to free himself from the mound of bodies, but every movement seemed only to entangle him further as limbs clutched at him. He clawed his way free of the suffocating embrace and lay gasping, his face to the wall. He could taste blood in his mouth and knew it was not his. He rolled over and vomited again and again, his whole body racked with the convulsions.
As he hauled himself to his knees, keeping his face averted from the bodies, he heard a rustle behind him. He turned around, scarcely daring to look. One of the bodies was moving, the wounded chest and stomach of a man struggling for breath.
Drew tore the other bodies away but, when he looked into the man’s face, two dead, staring eyes gazed back at him. As he stared down at the still-moving stomach, there was a slithering sound and something began to emerge from the wound.
Drew started to scream again as a rat crawled out, smothered in blood and entrails. As it disappeared again amongst the mound of bodies, Drew crawled backwards on his hands and knees, then stumbled to his feet and began to run towards the trees.
He blundered into the copse and threw himself into a patch of brambles, almost welcoming the pain as the thorns tore at his skin. He huddled at their centre, curled into the foetal position, and lay sobbing, the horrors he had seen crowding in upon him.
Chapter Fifteen
When Drew opened his eyes it was dark, with only the faintest of glows in the sky to the east. For a moment he was unsure where he was. He lay still, straining his ears, but could hear no noise other than the natural sounds of the night: an owl hooting, the wind gently stirring dead leaves. Then the memories gradually returned.
As he stretched out, the brambles caught at his clothes and skin. The pain jolted him into action. He disentangled himself from the thorns and stood up. He had been asleep for almost twelve hours. His head was pounding and his tongue felt like fur. He had to find water.
The sky was brightening steadily as he watched. Just to the east, he could see the hamlet from which he had fled. A few wisps of smoke were still drifting up from the ruined buildings. He shuddered. He would rather die of thirst than go back into that terrible place.
To the west a thin line of trees curving across the fields suggested a stream. He walked to the edge of the wood and looked carefully around. There were isolated barns but no farms as far as he could see. As the sun appeared over the horizon, he emerged cautiously from the shelter of the copse and hurried across the fields.
The stream was muddy and barely a couple of inches deep. He began to follow it uphill, hoping to find clearer water. As he walked, he kept within the shadow of the trees and looked around constantly for signs of danger.
After a few hundred metres, the stream curved in close to a field barn. Drew broke cover and ran across to it. He pushed open the creaking door and looked inside. A row of eight cattle stalls gave him hope. There was no tap, but he found a trough in the corner of the yard surrounding the barn.
The water in the bottom of the trough looked rank and smelled worse. He tried to free the ballcock, which was tied up with rough string. As he picked at the knot, he caught sight of his hands, completely covered in filth.
He leaned over the side of the trough and looked at his reflection. A face he barely recognised stared back at him: gaunt, wild-eyed, its hair matted and skin caked with dried blood.
The knot finally gave way and the ballcock dropped with a hollow clang, but after a moment there was a faint rattle and a hiss, followed by a thin rusty dribble. As Drew watched, it strengthened and gradually cleared. He ducked his head under the outlet and let the water flow over his face for a few moments, then began to drink. It tasted cold and clean. He swallowed as much as he could hold.
He travelled on all day, heading south-west, skirting around farms, houses and villages. Twice dogs barked at his approach and he was forced to retrace his steps and circle even wider. He stopped only once, to drink from a stream. Late in the afternoon, weary and ravenous, he almost stumbled straight into a group of men striding along a track towards him. Only their loud, guttural talk alerted him in time.
He dived into a bed of bracken and drew his pistol, but they had not seen him and strode by without a glance in his direction. Each held a weapon, but was dressed in rough country clothes. They could have been Muslims, Croats or Serbs. It made no difference to Drew; they were all the enemy.
Uncertain if the four men were alone or the advance guard of a larger party, Drew left the track for a smaller pathway through some scrubland. With the sun sinking low in the sky, he was anxious not to be surprised just as the relative safety of darkness was approaching.
Close to exhaustion, he stumbled onwards, still clutching his pistol. As he stepped into the shadow of a clump of birch trees, two heavily camouflaged soldiers sprang out in front of him, sub-machine guns at the ready. He heard the metallic click of weapons being cocked at either side of him and knew that he was trapped.
Too weary even to think about resistance, Drew hung his head. I’ve lost, he thought. I’ve let Nick down.
‘Don’t move.’ The command was softly spoken but menacing. ‘Now drop the gun.’
Surprised by a challenge in English, Drew stood immobile, the pistol still gripped in his hand. As he saw the men’s eyes narrow and their gun barrels swing up towards his chest, he let it tumble from his fingers. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he said. ‘British officer.’
There was no noticeable relaxation of tension. The soldiers still kept their guns trained on him. ‘Give me the code word for the day,’ their leader said. American – Jesus, they were American.
‘It’s… I don’t know what the fuck it is.’ Drew was almost hysterical with relief. ‘I was shot down the day before yesterday so that’s the last one I know. I’ve got this though.’ Using his left thumb and forefinger, he eased the UN beret from his pocket.
‘That’s a hat, Jack, it’s not a passport,’ the leader said. ‘Now why don’t you tell us something useful. I guess the day before yesterday’s code word would do for a start.’
Drew’s mind was a blank. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said in desperation. He moved too quickly and the guns came up again. ‘Sorry,’ he said, moving more slowly as he scraped at the dried mud still covering the back of his hand. He peered at the blurred and faded biro marks.
‘The code word was Top… er… no, Tobacco.’ Drew was triumphant.
The American gave a world-weary smile. ‘If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. Only a Limey could have a top secret code written on the back of his hand.’
Drew nodded idiotically, glancing from one face to another and smiling as if his face would crack. ‘I’m hellish pleased to see you guys. I had to eject near Banja Luka and you’re the best thing I’ve seen since then. So…’ He looked at each of them. ‘How di
d you know I was coming? What are you doing here?’
‘You blundered past a listening device and were spotted by one of our observation patrols. We’d have let you walk on by, but we thought you were a Serb. As for our mission, it’s better you don’t know.’
The American paused. ‘We can get you out of here pretty quickly though. We’re due a heli resupply at 0400 hours tomorrow, though your boys might want you out even quicker than that. Now what do you say we stop standing around and get ourselves back under cover?’
He led Drew up to a small rise in the scrubland. There seemed nothing different about the piece of ground until it suddenly opened up at Drew’s feet and he found himself looking into a hide. Two more soldiers gave him a cursory glance and then went back to their work, one scanning the area through binoculars, the other sitting with earphones clamped to his head.
The leader of the patrol followed Drew into the hide and pulled a chicken-wire roof, threaded with bracken fronds, over their heads.
‘Gene, dig out a drink and some food for our guest. He looks like he could use some. And get on the net and tell them we’ve got the Limey pilot they lost a couple of days ago. By the way,’ he added, swivelling to face Drew, ‘what happened to your navigator?’
Drew felt his face crumple. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists. ‘He died.’
‘Too bad.’
One of the soldiers turned on the radio and sent the signal, the information compressed into a burst lasting less than a tenth of a second.
He handed Drew food and water. ‘Reconstituted beef stew, cold I’m afraid.’
Drew shook his head, not caring. He wolfed down part of it, but his stomach rebelled and he vomited it back. The Americans exchanged glances as Drew did his best to clean up the mess, but the soldier handed him a bar of compressed dried fruit. ‘Try this instead. Eat it real slow this time.’
Drew nodded gratefully, nibbling at it as he pestered them with questions. ‘What’s been happening? I saw one of your F16s hunting down a Serb helicopter yesterday. Has the UN given the go-ahead?’
The leader nodded. ‘You can probably claim the credit for that. It was your jet getting shot down that finally persuaded them to get off their butts.’ Drew laughed. ‘Did I say something funny?’
‘I’m sorry, no. It’s just that we weren’t shot down.’
‘That’s not what your wingman said. I saw him interviewed on CNN before we were choppered in here. He said you’d been locked up by a SAM. He saw it explode and then you went out of control and ejected. Whatever, the UN passed another of their resolutions yesterday morning, handing over authority to NATO. The first raids went in late yesterday; they blew the ass out of those SAM sites.’
The radio operator leaned over his equipment as the return signal came in. The leader scanned the message. ‘They’re so pleased to see you, they’re bringing our resupply forward and sending a welcoming party. 1930 hours at the LZ. Dress casual.’
The landing zone was a mile away at the foot of a range of hills, masked from the surrounding plain by a wood. Ten minutes before the rendezvous time, the Americans led Drew through the trees. The wood was dense and thick with undergrowth and he stumbled like a blind man, helped along by the soldiers, who all wore night-vision goggles.
Four of them took up positions at the edge of the wood, constantly alert. Two others marked out the site, using Fireflies – infrared beacons the size of cigarette packets. The light was invisible to Drew, but he knew that anyone wearing infrared goggles would see it from miles away.
He waited in the shadows at the edge of the wood with his two companions. High in the sky, visible for a second outlined against the waning moon, was the first wave of the rescue package, two F18 radar suppressors, their HARM missiles ready to destroy any SAM missile threat. He guessed an EA-6B Prowler would also be up there somewhere, bristling with electronic jamming equipment.
Four minutes before the RV, two American F16s blasted in low over the area. As the sound wave ebbed away, Drew heard the empty rattle of helicopter rotors. Then he became aware of a different sound, a low rumble coming from beyond the wood at their rear. Straining his ears, he could make out engines and the grinding, metallic clank of tank tracks. Thin beams of light slashed the sky as vehicles pitched over the rough terrain, closing fast. Radios crackled and the Americans moved into action.
Four Cobra gunships appeared out of the darkness and hovered over the area as two huge Super Stallion helicopters landed in line astern. The crew of the second began hurling out supplies for the American patrol and a squad of marines leapt down and fanned out to secure the perimeter as Drew heard the roar of two Harrier jets quartering the sky above the Cobras, like eagles protecting hawks.
‘Hurry it up,’ the troop leader barked at Drew.
‘I just want to thank you guys. You saved my life,’ Drew said, but the American pushed him impatiently towards the helicopters.
‘Just get out of here. We’re blown. Understand? Just go.’
He turned his back and began barking fresh orders into the radio. Drew sprinted across the moonlit grass and stooped beneath the idly turning rotors of the lead Super Stallion. He heard gunfire and saw two explosions as shells fell short of their target.
The Cobras had already wheeled to face the threat. There was a blast as a missile came off one and streaked away into the night, followed almost immediately by a huge detonation. Urgent voices shouted to Drew and strong hands hauled him up into the helicopter.
The gunships laid down a barrage of covering fire as the marines rapidly withdrew to the Super Stallions. Inside three minutes, both helicopters were airborne. As Drew looked down, he could see the muzzle flashes from Serb troops puncturing the darkness. His rescuers had already disappeared.
As the Super Stallion roared away out of danger, one of the crew winked at Drew. ‘What’s it to be? We’ve got coffee, Coke and there’s even a can of Limey beer we brought specially for you.’
The voice seemed to be coming to Drew down a long, dark tunnel. He shook his head, unable to speak. The man fell silent and left Drew to his thoughts.
As they rattled through the night, he stared blankly down into the darkness of the Bosnian countryside. Even the towns showed barely a light, their generators destroyed by Serb shellfire.
A thin phosphorescent line was the only clue that they had crossed the coast. A few moments later the helicopter pilot called back on the intercom, ‘We’re out of Gate 4 and clear of hostile airspace.’
Tears flooded into Drew’s eyes.
Out over the Adriatic, the Harriers waggled their wings in salute and then peeled away back to their mother ship, followed by the Cobras and the other Super Stallion. They crossed the Italian coast a few minutes later and began the approach to Gióia.
As they touched down, Drew thanked the crew and stepped uncertainly out into the glare of the halogen lights around the landing area. There was a cheer as he appeared and he realised that the whole squadron was there to greet him. Russell stepped forward and shook his hand. ‘Good to have you back, Drew.’
‘What about Nick?’ DJ yelled as they crowded around him. Drew shook his head and walked away, leaving a sudden silence behind him.
The intelligence debrief took an hour and a half. Four senior officers from Combat Operations Centre, including Russell and a two-star American general, sat in with the British intelligence officer and her American counterpart.
Drew was constantly interrupted with a stream of questions. As he told them about Nick, the general and his aide looked at one another. Drew fought to keep his emotions in check, but the cold, clinical interrogation and the constant demands for repetition of the details of Nick’s last moments were impossible to bear.
Finally he snapped. ‘I told you what happened. They shot him. What more do you need?’
There was a silence before they returned to the moments just prior to ejection. Drew was emphatic that the missile had not caused the jet to crash. ‘It exploded
on the chaff,’ he said for the fifth time.
‘No one disputes that,’ the British intelligence officer said patiently, ‘but the shrapnel from the explosion would seem the obvious cause for your loss of control.’
‘I don’t believe so,’ Drew said. ‘The time gap between the explosion and the control loss was too long.’
The general cleared his throat and looked pointedly at his watch. ‘Why don’t we leave that one for the moment? The only way we’ll know for sure is if we get the ADR back and the chances of that look pretty slim. The main issue as far as I’m concerned is that a defenceless serviceman, showing the UN beret, was murdered by those Serb sons of bitches. Excuse me, I’m just a regular soldier, but what brought the jet down in the first place doesn’t amount to a hill of beans compared to that.’ He looked around the room, defying anyone to disagree with him. ‘So let’s get this wrapped up and let this young man have a couple of well-earned beers. We’re proud of you, son.’
Drew gave a weak smile in response and turned to Russell. ‘I want to be the one to break the news to Nick’s wife. I made a promise to her before we came out to Bosnia.’
Russell shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’m sorry, Drew. She’s already been notified that he’s missing in action and I sent a signal to Finnington before the debrief, detailing a senior officer to break the news. I’m afraid she’ll already know by now.’
‘I promised her,’ Drew said, on the brink of tears.
‘I understand that,’ Russell said gently, ‘but we have to move fast before some tabloid reporter gets wind of the news and turns up on her doorstep. Nick wouldn’t have wanted that, would he?’
Drew shook his head and turned away. He was shuffling out of the room after the Americans when the medical crew pounced on him, ready for their interminable checks.
‘General,’ Drew said. ‘Could you help me out here?’
The general turned. ‘Any back pains, Miller?’
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