knew what the fuck we were doing.
All we had left to do for now was watch the moody light-show ahead, as the storm crept closer.
‘When will they come?’ Silky sparked up, to no one in particular.
I answered anyway: ‘Soon. Maybe fifteen, thirty, an hour . . . Who knows?’
PART NINE
1
19:46 hours
The sky emptied on us. Rain hammered at my head and shoulders, but it was a relief not a hardship. Water cascaded down my face and into my open mouth. I sucked it in greedily.
I needed to piss, and just let it happen: it wasn’t as if I was going to stain my OGs. I bent down to check it didn’t smell as bad as it had at the claymore dugout, then brought the jerry-can back up to my mouth to replace what I’d lost.
I passed it over so Silky and Tim could get some down them too. We’d been in position for nearly twenty minutes and there was nothing to do but keep our eyes open and wait, or watch our fingers go wrinkly in the rain.
We’d soon know when they were on their way. They were going to do one of two things: burst through the front door with weapons blazing, or infiltrate until they hit a contact. Either way, it was just a question of the sangars firing at everything and anything that could be seen in the arcs.
Sam would decide the right time to kick off the claymores. We wanted as many of them as possible to be taken out by the explosions, and the rest to be running around dazed and confused in the killing ground. In the darkness, it would be a tough call.
Tim had somehow pushed himself up on to his arse to stop his face being pelleted by the rain. He leaned against Silky and reached for the bag. He fiddled about in the dark for a moment and eventually pulled out some painkillers. She cupped water in the palm of her hand for him to drink.
Lightning cracked and sizzled, filling the valley with brilliant blue shafts of light. I looked across at the other fire trenches. Heads, shoulders and weapon barrels were silhouetted all down the line. They were doing the same as I was, watching and waiting.
Two of the forward sangars opened up in unison.
Seconds later, nearer the river, muzzle flashes sparked like giant fireflies.
Screams and wails of panic drifted up the valley from the re-entrant.
Another couple of sangars joined in as the LRA came within their arcs – or maybe they could see fuck-all and were just going for it.
Sam screamed: ‘Stand by, stand by.’
We had nothing to aim at yet, and didn’t want them to know we were there in reserve, so we stayed as we were.
The rattle of gunfire echoed round the valley as everyone in the front third opened up. Tracer from our guys floated down towards the entrance. Some of it hit rock and bounced straight up into the air before burning out or disappearing into the low cloud.
There was a huge rumble of thunder, and lightning strobe-lit the whole valley. A swarm of figures jerked into view. They were starting to pour in. I couldn’t tell if they were adults or kids, but I knew there were a hundred plus, and that was just for openers.
Below me, Tim talked calmly to Silky: ‘We’ll be OK, we’ll be OK . . .’
To my right, Sam’s hands were on the plunger handle.
‘Not yet! Not yet!’
I realized he was screaming at himself.
A couple of rounds thudded into our position. I ducked and shouted down at Silky. ‘Overshoots! Not aiming at us – they don’t know we’re here. It’s OK, just keep down.’
Sam was still at it. ‘Not yet! Not yet!’
Then he yelled, ‘Here we go! Here we go!’
I watched his hands push down, his eyes fixed dead ahead.
2
Nothing happened.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
I’d already launched myself halfway out of the trench.
‘What, Nick? What?’ Silky was losing it.
‘Wait here. Don’t move.’ As if.
I clambered out in time to see Sam give the plunger another seeing-to.
Still no detonation. We were going to lose the firefight.
I ran across and jumped into the backblast channel behind him. ‘I’ll sort it! I’m going to go high left, OK? High left.’
Standish swung round in his trench, shouting shit: ‘What’s happened? What’s gone wrong? You fucking moron! Make it work!’
I ignored him and waited for Sam to give me the nod, then jumped up and ran back to my trench. Muzzles flashed and cracked below me. I lay in the mud of the backblast channel and yelled, over the din, ‘Silky, get up here! Help me, help me!’
I reached down and grabbed the RPG with the first round still in it. ‘Hurry up! Get out of there!’ I laid the launcher in the mud and pulled out another three rounds. I turned my back to her. ‘Shove them down my shirt. Right the way down to the waistband.’
She knelt behind me, fumbling with the rounds.
‘Fucking hell! Hurry up, hurry up! Shove the fucking things in!’
The stabilizer pipes scraped down the raw flesh where my rash had once been. It felt like my skin was on fire. She could only get two down. The shirt was starting to give way.
‘Give me your belt! Quick! Quick!’
Trying to go too fast, she was all fingers and thumbs. Tim helped the only way he could. ‘It’s OK, Silky, take your time. Look at what you’re doing. You can do it.’
Eventually her webbing belt came off. I grabbed it from her, wrapped it round my chest and did it up. The two rounds behind me were secure.
I pushed her back towards the fire trench.
And then I was gone. A combination of adrenalin and guilt drove me across the ground like Superman. I legged it down into the valley, following the track, slipping, sliding, a couple of times sprawling headlong in the mud. I wasn’t worried about the launcher. The rain would wash off the mud and, anyway, these things were soldier- proof.
I made it down to the valley and worked my way past the dugout and the oil drums, then headed up to the higher ground. I wanted to get behind that rear sangar so I didn’t get zapped. RPGs kicked off from the knoll behind me with a whoosh, aimed to drop and soft-detonate in the valley entrance.
I didn’t give a shit what was in front of me. I just wanted to make distance. Gripping the RPG with both hands, I scrambled up the hill like a mountain goat on speed.
