come in.
The radio came back to life as they went down the entrance stairs and into the courtyard. A scene of carnage met them, fi re billowing out of the far end of building three and bodies lying on the red clay.
Spikey and Sawtell walked along the courtyard side of the building, aiming up at the spaces that fi ve minutes earlier had been windows.
Sporadic fi re issued from the windows. The Americans returned with interest.
The fi re was taking hold. More gunfi re came out of the building.
On the radio, it sounded like Sonny and Hemi were nailed down elsewhere. Mac wanted to drop Hannah and Hard-on in the bush and get back to rescuing Minky’s daughter.
Hard-on was in a bad way as they headed for the RV, groaning every time his feet hit the ground. Judith Hannah bounced rhythmically against Mac’s back. At least her legs were warm, which was a good sign.
Mac keyed the mic: ‘Red team, this is Blue. We have one target.
Repeat one target. Need help on the other. Over.’
No reply.
He tried again. ‘Red team, Minky’s girl is in building three, repeat building three, in one of the middle rooms. A wall has collapsed on her – can we get someone there?’
Hard-on, through his agony, shook his head. ‘It’s not going to happen, Pizza Man. This is one we’ll just have to live with.
Fuck it!’
They hit the cover of the jungle and made up the slope for the RV.
Mac dumped the girl softly on the mossy forest fl oor. Hard-on almost collapsed in the leaves. He was in shock, losing blood and in a lot of pain.
Mac opened Billy’s triage pack which had been left at the RV.
He peeled back the fl ap to reveal morphine vials, bandages, needles, scalpels, hypodermic syringes, horsehair sutures and much more.
He found a thick bandage then pulled a squirty bottle fi lled with pure grain spirit from the bag and tore open a packet of fi ve sterile pads. Ripping away Hard-on’s sleeve, he had a closer look. The bullet had passed on the inside of the bicep and out the other side. It had probably nicked an artery and chipped the bone.
‘What’s it like?’ asked Hard-on in a small voice.
‘A fucking mess,’ said Mac, already working on the wound.
Hard-on’s body spasmed at the pain of it, but he was a good soldier.
Tears ran down his cheeks, he gasped, moaned and swore through gritted teeth as Mac cleaned the gaping thing out with spirit and the pads. Finally Mac squirted spirit on the last pad, placed it on the wound and strapped the bandage around the bicep.
By now Hard-on was full into shock: pale lips, chattering teeth and eyes rolling back. Mac kept him talking, asked if he wanted a shot and Hard-on shook his head.
‘Just say no.’
They both chuckled, but Mac couldn’t do anything more for now.
He got on the radio. ‘Billy, I got a man down. At the RV. Repeat, man down.’
‘Got that, Blue team. There soon, over.’
Mac turned to Judith Hannah. Not much change. He still had no clothes for her so he took off his webbing, dropped his ovies and put them on her.
Fishing in the medic pack he came out with a cap of smelling salts. Tried them under her nose. She reacted slightly but was still in some kind of coma.
He grabbed Hard-on’s M4. Checked for load, checked for safety and then barrelled down the hill in his briefs and Hi-Tecs.
The fi ght was still going and the building was now completely enveloped in fl ame. Mac felt sadness about Minky’s girl. He gulped it back and moved to the end of the building where the shooting was still happening. Sawtell leaned out of another building, called him in. Mac raced around, ducked in a side entrance and joined Sawtell, Sonny and Billy in the room. Across a small fi eld, a posse of thugs fi red intermittently from building fi ve. Sonny, Sawtell and Billy fi red back.
‘Well that went to shit in a handcart real quick,’ said Sawtell as Mac joined them.
‘Cunts were waiting for us,’ said Sonny. ‘Had a whole backup team in number fi ve.’
They looked Mac up and down, taking in his briefs. Didn’t say anything.
Through the window they watched Hemi, behind a long-abandoned bulldozer, enthusiastically hammering away with a belt-fed. 50 cal machine gun. Every time he loosed a burst, whole sections of building fi ve fell away, as if someone were poking pieces out of a jigsaw puzzle from the inside.
‘I’ll give him ten more seconds,’ said Sonny, ‘then we roll, eh?’
Mac nodded. ‘Hannah’s okay. Local girl didn’t make it.’
Sonny nodded.
‘I tried,’ said Mac.
‘I know,’ said Sonny.
Sawtell asked, ‘How’s Hard-on?’
‘Not good. Needs a doctor.’
Sawtell looked at the blood on Mac’s hands, then looked away, sad.
‘You use the morphine?’ asked Billy, getting ready to go.
‘No,’ said Mac. ‘Didn’t know how.’
‘Good,’ said Billy, and he left.
‘Where’s Moses? Where’s Spikey?’ asked Mac.
A pause.
‘Didn’t make it – got caught in there.’ Sonny gestured at the inferno, shook his head. ‘Fuck that for a game of cards. I’d rather be shot.’
Sawtell nodded.
The evacuation went smoothly. Hemi carried Hard-on, Billy took Hannah. Sonny took point duty, Sawtell ran the sweep.
They got to the helo as fast as you could carrying two people.
They put Hard-on in a stretcher. Wrapped Hannah in a blanket and harnessed her into the back seat of the Euro. Her head lolled and Mac jammed a folded blanket under her left ear. He found a pair of orange ovies in the tool bay, put them on.
Billy got on the fl ight deck, made ready to fi re her up. The whole crew was defl ated, exhausted, sad, drained by the adrenaline come-down.
Sawtell suddenly pulled back from talking to a zonked-out Hardon. There was a commotion outside and voices raised, slides clicking and the sound of a rifl e being manhandled.
Mac grabbed the SIG from between his feet, poked his head out of the helo. Beneath him Sonny had his arms around Moses and Spikey.
They all looked down, smiling and crying at the little girl lying in Mosie’s arms.
Spikey’s left hand was held to his ear, blood was crusted down his neck. He was saying to Sonny, ‘Damned if Mosie don’t just pick up that wall like it was litter.’
They got back to the compound at sun-up. Sonny and Sawtell went drinking in the mess, played Stevie Wonder, Rolling Stones and Grand Funk Railroad. Played it loud, talked loud, tried to sing along – a couple of boys with some pipes to clear.
Everyone else hit the hay.
Mac lay awake, remembering one night his father had got home late. Mac had been ten years old at the time. It was hot, the middle of summer in Rockie, and Mac had got up after midnight to get a glass of water. Frank was sitting in the darkness of the kitchen, sipping Johnnie Walker and sucking back Pall Mall Plains, an ashtray fi lled with white butts in front of him. The dark red pack was going end over end on the formica table between Frank’s fi ngers. Mac got his water, and as he was going back to his bed Frank said, ‘You’ve gotta promise me, mate. Never mix alcohol and fi rearms – got it?’
Mac had nodded, freaked at his father’s slurred and bloodshot state.
