They knelt around the hole and let Paul walk off the twisted ankle.
He was in agony.
Mac put his fi ngers to his eyes, Jansen nodded. They crawled to the hole, dragging leaves away from it so nothing fell down. Leaning over, they stuck their heads in. A breeze came up thick and strong, indicating the mine had some part of it open. But they couldn’t see anything; it was completely dark.
It would require patience to hear sounds, evidence of people.
Jansen and Mac got comfy and listened while Paul and Fitzy stood guard.
Mac was just about to call it quits when there was a faint clanking sound. Jansen looked up at Mac, then listened again. More clanks, a male voice.
Mac and Jansen crawled into the cover of the trees where they joined Paul and Fitzy. Mac keyed the radio.
Sawtell came on, grumpy with someone breaking radio silence.
‘Thought you might like to stealth this?’ said Mac.
‘Better than storming a steel door,’ replied Sawtell.
‘We’ve found the vent. Right up the spur, where you said it was.’
‘How long?’
‘Take you twenty minutes.’
‘See you then. Out.’
Mac and Paul locked eyes. Time to fi nish this.
CHAPTER 49
Sawtell wanted a man to stay at the tunnel entrance while Fitzy, the tunnel rat, went down fi rst. He wanted Spikey in second for any tricky locks or doors and he wanted complete radio silence.
The men slapped pockets, tucked boot laces into the tops and turned watches inward.
Mac suggested Paul sit this one out, what with the ribs, the face and the ankle. Paul just smiled and downed another handful of painkillers.
The tunnel was steel-lined so the soldiers wrapped M4s in their BDU shirts, tying them over their shoulders like a swag to stop them knocking and echoing. Mac and Paul couldn’t use a shirt so they’d need to stick especially tight to the ladder.
Mac was fourth down, Paul after him. They dipped into the tunnel and moved down the rungs. Mac kept looking up to reassure himself there was light above, but after fi ve minutes, he forced himself to look down to make his eyes adjust to the murk.
They made their way further and further into the tunnel. It got so cold the sweat on the back of Mac’s ovies started turning icy. The only sound was muffl ed boots on rungs, shallow breaths. Eleven adult men in a narrow steel tube. Almost one living organism operating to its own rhythm. And it was almost totally silent.
At one point Mac heard a muttered ‘fuck’ as one of the guys knocked his G-Shock and it lit up.
They travelled like that for what seemed like an eternity, the tension high. All it would take was one tango at the bottom with an assault rifl e and they’d all be dead.
Unless Fitzy drilled him fi rst.
Mac didn’t know how the US Army Special Forces did it, but in the Royal Marines and the SBS, your designated tunnel rat usually went on ahead. He’d have good night eyes and would be at the bottom of a tube like this, assessing the dangers and opportunities. In the SBS, the jockeys like Fitzy were a special breed. They were also the ones who liked the wet work – the close-in stuff with knives and garrottes.
Mac hoped Fitzy was down there and safe, hoped his night eyes were working better than Mac’s.
At last Mac felt a tap on his back – the sign that he was about to touch ground. He eased onto what felt like concrete, put his hand up and touched Paul on the back as he came down. Mac’s guide then pulled him back one step by the ovies. Mac pulled Paul back one step. And so it went.
They stood in blackness. Unable to see their hands in front of them. When the entire conga line was down, they pulled each other round in a laager, face in, then knelt down as their eyes adjusted to a low-light environment.
Mac got the feeling they were in a side tunnel. It looked to be curved on the ceiling, running at right angles to how the main mine should run.
‘First we fi nd the main shaft,’ said Sawtell, almost whispering.
The men pulled their shirts off their backs, unravelled their M4s and put their BDU tops back on. All in silence.
Mac had quelled his nerves to some extent but he was still uncertain about where they were going and how they’d fi nd the VX.
He fought the panic urge, breathed it through and looked over at Paul, who was strangely serene.
Without noise, Fitzy arrived back and hand-signalled to Sawtell.
Sawtell nodded and they slipped through the blackness behind Fitzy.
After ten minutes they stopped and formed the laager again.
Sawtell tapped Spikey who joined Fitzy at a wall. Mac saw there was an iron door set in the concrete side.
Spikey removed his mini-bergen and leaned against the wall while he assembled something. Mac couldn’t make it out even though Spikey was only two paces away.
The men breathed gently, excited but patient. Spikey seemed to be cranking something. Mac squinted, strained his neck. Paul whispered,
‘Auger.’
The grinding lasted fi fteen minutes, the troop dead silent. Then Spikey knelt at the bag and did something with what looked like a texta. He brought a box out of the bag. Fitzy put his hands near the hole Spikey had augered and Spikey fl icked a switch. A small black and white monitor sprang to life, so bright that hands went up to eyes. In the glow Mac could see that the tunnel was indeed curved, was about nine feet at its highest point, and had the long lines and grooves indicating where the boards had been all those decades ago when the concrete was poured in – probably by slaves.
The light also showed the door, which was iron, about fi ve-foot tall and much like a hatchway on a ship, with a locking wheel in the centre.
Mac saw an image come up on Spikey’s box. They’d put fi bre optic through the wall. Spikey looked over his shoulder at Sawtell who stood, knees creaking, and took the box. By the look of the monitor, there were lights on behind that wall. Mac felt his heart rate picking up. Spikey looked at the captain’s face, not at the monitor, looking for a sign that they were going to get it on. Do what they’d been trained for, fi nish Sabaya, grab the VX, get out of Dodge.
Sawtell didn’t fl inch, his face a mix of concentration, confi dence and professional reticence. He went over and over the same stretch of tunnel then looked over his shoulder at Gordie, a big, red-headed, freckly bloke with a Texan accent. Gordie was given the box and he shifted the picture back and forth too. Sawtell whispered in his ear, gestured with his hand. Mac got the impression Sawtell wanted more escape routes. Wanted better odds, rather than just throwing themselves into that lit tunnel and then trying to work out what to do.
Mac liked that.
Mac also had an idea.
He signalled Sawtell and whispered to him away from the hatchway door.
‘You sure about this?’ asked Sawtell.
‘No,’ Mac whispered.
Sawtell put his hands on his hips.
‘Mate, all I’m saying is that I think that’s a blast door. Get behind it if there’s blasting down the main tunnel,’ said Mac. ‘So logically, the blast tunnel follows the main tunnel all the way down.’
‘You saying that’s not the only door?’ asked Sawtell.
‘I’m pretty sure.’
