Some of them were long bursts, the rounds going high as the weapon barrels kicked up, but some were short, the switched-on guys aiming three and five rounds at a time as I heard a wagon revving up to join in the frenzy.
I covered six or seven metres through the foliage until I found them. Carrie was on her back, panting, eyes wide open, tear-filled and big as saucers, her cargos bloodstained on the right thigh, with what looked like bone pushing at the material. Her injured leg appeared shorter than the other, and the foot was lying flat with the toes pointing outward. A round must have hit her in the femur. Luz was hovering over her, not knowing what to do, just staring openmouthed at her mother's bloodstains.
The rounds had died down for now as the shouts and engine noise got louder.
I grabbed Carrie by the arms and, shuffling on my arse, started to drag her through the leaf litter in the direction of our emergency RV, the corner of the treeline, and into the dead ground. Luz followed on her hands and knees, sobbing loudly.
'Shut up! They'll hear you!'
We only managed five or six metres. Carrie cried out uncontrollably as her injured leg got jarred and twisted, covering her face with her hands in an effort to keep quiet. At least the noise meant she was breathing and could feel pain, both good signs, but the two of them were making such a racket that it was only a matter of time before we were heard.
I jumped up, grabbed Carrie's wrist, and heaved her over my shoulder in a fireman's lift. She screamed as her damaged leg swung free before I held it in place. I pushed through the vegetation with long, exaggerated strides, trying to keep the leg stable with one hand and keeping a tight grip of Luz with the other, sometimes by her hair, sometimes by her clothing, sometimes around her neck, whatever it took to keep us moving together.
The BUBs now sparked up as frenzied shouts and the high revs of the engine came from behind us. Short bursts from M-16s randomly stitched the area. They were at the entry points.
We crashed our way through some more wait-a-while and Carrie's leg got snagged.
She screamed and I half turned, pulled it free, knowing there was a chance that the broken ends of her femur could act like scissors, cutting into muscle, nerves, tendons, ligaments or, worst of all, sever the femoral artery. She'd be history in minutes if that happened. But what else could I do?
We crashed on, and began a gentle decent. I guessed we were about level with the heli in the clearing to my right. I could still hear people hosing the place down behind us, but the jungle was soaking up a lot of it and we seemed to be out of the initial danger area.
The BUBs reminded me I'd have to stop soon and sort out Carrie. I needed that last precious light.
I pushed towards the treeline until I could see the beginning of the open ground, then dragged Luz back with me so we were just behind the wall of green.
At last I was able to lay Carrie down, making sure as I did so that her feet were pointing at the treeline.
The M-16s only fired sporadically now, up on the higher ground, though there was still a lot of vehicle noise and shouting up and down the treeline. I didn't care: if there were any dramas we'd just drag further back in. The priority now was sorting her out.
Carrie lay on her back taking short, sharp breaths, her face contorted. I joined in with her pattern of breathing as I tried to get my breath back. Luz was bent over her on her knees. I gently straightened her.
'You've got to help your mum and me. I need you to kneel there, behind me. If anyone comes you just turn round and give me a tap not a shout, just a tap, OK? Will you do that?'
Luz looked at her mother, then back at me.
'That's good this is really important.' I positioned her behind me, facing the treeline, then turned to Carrie. No way were we going to be walking out of here, but that wasn't my major concern: sorting her out was.
She fought the pain through gritted teeth. There was blood. Her femoral artery wasn't cut or lit res of the stuff would have been pouring out over her leg, but if she kept leaking like this she would eventually go into shock and die. The bleeding had to be stopped and the fracture immobilized.
Not even bothering to explain what I was up to, I got down at her feet and started to work with my teeth at the frayed hem of her cargos. I made a tear, gripped both sides of it, and ripped the material upwards. As the injury was exposed I saw that she hadn't been shot. She must have fallen badly and overstressed the femur: the bone was sticking out of what looked like a rack of raw, blood-soaked beef. But at least there was muscle there to contract, it hadn't been shot away.
I tried to sound upbeat.
'It's not so bad.'
There was no reply, just very rapid breathing.
With military casualties in the field I had always found it better to take the piss, not feed their worries. But this felt different: I wanted to reassure her, to make her feel OK.
'It looks a lot messier than it is. I'll make sure it doesn't get worse, then get you to a doctor. It'll be fine.'
With her head tilted back she seemed to be looking up at the canopy. Her face was fixed in a terrible grimace, eyes screwed tight.
I cleared some leaf litter that had stuck to the sweat on her forehead and whispered into her ear, 'Really, it's not that bad ... it's a clean break. You haven't lost that much blood, but I've got to fix it so the bone doesn't move about and cause any more damage. It's going to hurt more while I sort it out you know that, don't you?'
I caught sight of Luz, who was still in position on her knees, looking back at us. I gave her the thumbs up, but all I got in return was a fleeting, tearstained half-smile.
Carrie's chest heaved up and down as she sucked in air, quietly screaming to herself as she took the pain.
'Carrie, I need you to help me, will you do that, will you help me? I want you to hold on to the tree behind you when I say, OK?'
Forcing the words out haltingly through the tears, she sobbed, 'Get on with it.'
There was a burst of fire further up the treeline. Luz flinched and looked back.
I held up both my hands and mouthed to her, 'It's OK, it's OK.'
The firing stopped and Luz turned back to her task. The BUBs echoed about us in the fading light as I gently eased Carrie's inch-wide webbing belt through the hoops of her cargos and put it down by her feet. Then I took off my sweatshirt, knowing I was sentencing myself to being one big mozzie banquet.
I ripped a sleeve away from its stitching. Carrie's eyes were closed, her lips quivering, as I started pulling on the large waxy leaves that drooped down about us. In a minute, I'm going to move your good leg next to your bad one. I'll do it as carefully as I can.'
Rolling up the leaves into big cigar shapes, I gently packed them all the way down between her legs, to act as padding between the good leg and the bad. I carried on as the odd Spanish shout penetrated the canopy, then picked up her good leg.
'Here we go, here we go.' She was breathing as rapidly as if she was giving birth. I brought it gently over towards her injured one, just as the first splatter of rain hit the canopy. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Luz moved back to me on her knees.
'It's raining, what do we do?'
I shrugged.
'Get wet.'
Carrie's features twisted again in agony. As rain tumbled on to her face she held out her hand for Luz to grasp, and mother and daughter whispered to each other. I needed Luz on stag. I signalled that I wanted her to move, and she shuffled back to her post.
I pushed the sleeve through the mud below Carrie's knees and laid it out flat, then frantically ripped the rest of the now soaking-wet sweatshirt into strips to improvise bandages.
'Nick, the ship ...'
The ship has to wait.'
I carried on ripping and tearing as the rain notched itself up to monsoon strength. I couldn't even hear the BUBs any more, or the people in the open ground if they were still there.
I leant over her, right up to her ear.
'I need you to bring your hands back and grab hold of the tree behind you.'
