I turned back. Bastard had reached breaking point. ‘Get the fuck outta here, faggot! What the fuck you Brits doing here anyway?’
Bastard lifted his spade-sized right hand and pushed against Tony’s face. Tony wasn’t made for hard sleeping, and he wasn’t built to take a slapping either. He reeled back and toppled onto one of the radio operators. The guy stood up but he wasn’t going to help. This was the boss’s business.
I took three quick strides and got in between them. The command tent fell silent and the rabbits and the rumble of the CEVs filled the space. Bastard didn’t have to say anything. His intentions were written all over his face. Tony was spread across the radio operator’s table and was sliding towards the ground.
‘I’ll take him away. I’m sorry, he’s not used to seeing this sort of thing. I’ll get him out of the way for you.’ I raised my hand in conciliation.
But Bastard was feeling too feisty to back off. He poked me in the chest. ‘Who the fuck are you anyway? Another fag Brit?’
I was here to look after the talent. I stood my ground. Tony’s shoulders rubbed against my legs as he tried to get up.
I put out my hand and touched Bastard’s jacket. His chest was rigid; the fucker had body armour on. I glanced right and left to see if I could sense how much support he’d be getting. The answer seemed to be plenty.
There was no way I could win this. Bastard was a big old boy, and his mates would pile in the moment anything kicked off. If the two of us had a day of reckoning, it wasn’t today.
‘We’ll go now.’ My eyes were locked on his. ‘This isn’t his thing.’
One of the guys in the tent came up and put his hand on Bastard’s shoulder. ‘It’s not worth it, Buster. These guys were sent here to help. Special relationship, right…’
Bastard’s jaw jutted as he returned my stare, weighing his options. His eyes never left mine. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel.
I guided Tony out of the tent but he didn’t come willingly. He still wanted answers.
The light was good enough to see the US flag fluttering from the antenna of one of the CEVs as it manoeuvred round the compound. It wasn’t the only Stars and Stripes flying. I wondered if any of them had noticed the much bigger one hanging from the Davidians’ own pole.
The armoured vehicles had churned up the ground so much round the target it looked like the Somme. Litter from crushed wheelie bins was scattered by the strengthening wind.
I had my arm round Tony’s shoulder, guiding him back to the trailer. But he didn’t want to go. ‘I’ve got to check something.’
‘What can we do? There’s—’
Tony pulled free and started to run. The steel container flown in by the RAF was about two hundred metres away.
I set off after him. It wouldn’t hurt. If nothing else, it took him two hundred metres further away from Alpha Pod.
As we approached the container, I could see it had sunk an inch or two into the ground under its own weight. When we got closer, I could see the two back doors had carved an arc in the soft ground where they’d been pulled open. The padlock had been cut.
Tony was almost hyperventilating with rage. ‘They had no right, Nick. You know the deal. They were only to take it after consultation. In the name of God, Nick, what are they doing?’
I looked inside. Several of the half-size oil drums were missing. The gas inside was under such pressure, Tony had told me, that it was solid. When the seals were removed, it degraded into fine particles, which could then be pumped into a building under pressure.
He leaned against the container as if he’d taken a punch in the gut. I hadn’t noticed until then, but the animal screams had stopped. The only sounds were the rattling of tank tracks and Nancy Sinatra singing ‘These Boots Are Made For Walking’.
Wind gusted off the prairie as I shut the container doors.
Another roar of approval went up from the spectators. Tony’s eyes followed a flurry of activity alongside several 4x4s on the track to the outer cordon. Binos raised, the thrill-seekers were pulsating with excitement as they munched on their fresh breakfast muffins. In an hour or two the funfair would start up again, and the novelty stalls would churn out more
I leaned against the container with Tony. Police in body armour, M16s over the shoulder, milled around with cups of coffee and egg rolls, eager to get a good view.
Tony shook his head in disbelief. His eyes welled with tears. ‘They’re going to die in there, Nick. They won’t be coming out. Some of the children are probably dead already. We must stop it. Who do we see? Who do we call? This is madness!’
I turned my head. ‘We’re not going to stop anything, mate. Look at this lot.’ The BDU-clad bodies took more pictures and cheered Nancy’s every word. ‘You’re flogging a dead horse, mate.’
The tears started to roll down his cheek. ‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘What the fuck do you think is happening? Look at those wagons.’ I pointed at the CEVs rampaging round the compound. ‘And fuck knows what’s going on round the back. Why do you think the lines have been cut? There’s an agenda, mate. They want the fuckers dead.’
His jaw dropped. Tony didn’t share the Rambo mindset of those in the helicopters and tanks. He invented toys for them to play with, but I could see he wasn’t used to joining in the game.
‘Look, the people on the ground here aren’t the decision-makers. That’s way above their pay scale. They’re just having fun doing it. They got the go from way up, mate. And you can bet your bottom dollar they wouldn’t touch this gas of yours unless the UK said they could. They’ve just fucked you off the plan now they’ve got your gear.’
‘But it’s women and children in there. They’re killing them! Someone must do something!’
I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him from bouncing up and down. I also wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to run off again and try to do something that I wouldn’t be able to reverse him out of. ‘Listen. Ever since this thing kicked off, Koresh and the rest of them have been made to sound like the devil’s disciples. Think of it in Bastard’s terms. It’s a black and white world, and these are the bad guys.’
Tony’s head was in his hands, and his shoulders had started to shake.
‘I’ll go and get a brew on.’ I let go and patted his shoulder. ‘Coffee?’
What else was there to say?
9
By eleven o’clock it was getting pretty hot on my vantage point on top of the cattle trailer. I’d fetched Tony several brews, but last time I looked he hadn’t touched any of them. He still had his arse planted in the mud and his back slumped against the container.
I took off my jacket and pulled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. The wind had picked up, blowing tumbleweed across the heat haze between us and the target. The way things were going round here, it wouldn’t have surprised me to see Clint Eastwood ride into shot.
Still no-one had come out of the buildings. Either they’d all been killed by the gas, or they’d killed themselves rather than surrender, or were being kept inside by Koresh. I wondered what had been going on round the back. I hadn’t seen anything, but I knew automatic gunfire when I heard it. Our guys, their guys, or both? Who knew? At this stage of the day, if they wanted to drop each other it was up to them. I just wanted this to be over and done with so we could pack up and go home. Maybe I’d buy myself a T-shirt on the way out.
I looked back towards the container to check on Tony. He was still there, and still very much in his own little world. The urgent roar of a CEV engine pulled me back towards the compound. It was making another entry into the building, and this time the monotone had replaced Nancy Sinatra. ‘This is not an attack. Do not open fire.’ They
