Recoil

12

‘Nick! Nick!’ Crucial shouted and waved. ‘I need you now! I need you!’

I picked up my AK and started heading his way. Two cots were being carried out of the second tent by four little people. Sam still stagged motionlessly on his gun.

‘OK, here’s the drill, Nick.’ Crucial looked like an air steward pointing out the emergency exits. ‘Two launchers in each trench. The first trench, both of them fire on my command. Then the next trench does the same while the other one reloads. Got it?’

I wondered if he’d been watching Zulu. It was like Michael Caine’s boys at Rorke’s Drift, one rank firing while the other loaded. I nodded.

‘Good. I want you to stay in the second trench. Make sure they’re doing their drills right. They keep forgetting to cock the weapon.’

I ran over to Bateman’s trench. One of the cots was on the floor; four boys were standing on it, with two launchers. Twelve rounds were jammed between the cot and the front of the trench.

Sunday and his number two were one team, the Chuckle Brothers the other. I hesitated: the Chuckle Brothers were crying. I realized I wanted to hug the little fuckers and say it was all right; I wanted them not to have to do this. I wanted a lot of things to be different, but it wasn’t going to happen.

I stood between the two teams and squatted down against the front of the trench. ‘All right, mate?’ The Chuckle Brothers’ fear-filled eyes did everything they could to avoid mine.

I tried Sunday. ‘All right, Sunday?’

Crucial harangued the boys from the next trench. The number twos went through the drill of putting a round in.

I watched Sunday and the number one Chuckle Brother get their weapon on the shoulder, and wait for their number twos to come round behind them and create the platform. Sunday cocked the weapon once he was in position, and waited.

The Chuckle Brothers were wobbling. I raised my hand up and supported the front of the launcher while they sorted their feet out. They begged and implored me; they must have thought I was about to kick the shit out of them.

I tapped the forward pistol grip. ‘Cock it – cock it.’ I had to take a leaf out of Crucial’s book. I wasn’t helping them otherwise. ‘COCK IT!’ In the end, I resorted to sign language.

He cocked the weapon as best he could.

Crucial jumped into the backblast channel and grabbed hold of both launchers from the rear, pushing them down to get the right elevation and aim. Once he was satisfied with the angle, he bellowed at them and they gripped the weapons as if their lives depended on it.

He screamed the order to fire.

Both weapons clicked. The crews knelt down automatically and started the reload.

My teams resumed the fire position, and cocked both weapons this time.

Fuck it. I didn’t have time to drill them over and over. I left them to it.

I ran across the back of Sam’s fire trench. ‘I’m going down now, mate. Marker time.’

I picked up the end of the cable and the wooden crate top, and ran back into the tent. I was starting to feel dehydrated again. Everything was getting heavy.

I took big gulps from the jerry-can as I inspected their handiwork. Both the gloves were on Tim’s lap. The boy was still lying next to him. The floor was littered with discarded link, cases and bullet heads.

Silky handed me the first glove. ‘What’s it for, Nick? What’s going on?’

‘I need to ignite a drum of diesel down in the valley. The pilot needs something to use as a reference point so I can aim the guns for him.’

Tim held up the second glove as I knotted the wrist of the first. ‘Good luck, Nick.’

‘You got any surgical tape in that magic bag of yours?’

Silky scouted around and came up with a small roll of narrow white tape.

Crucial was still out there, screaming and shouting as the kids repeated the drills. It felt strangely quiet and safe on this side of the canvas by comparison.

I picked up the head of a round and placed the two firing-cable wires along it so that they were less than a millimetre apart at the pointed top. I started peeling back the roll with my teeth, then taped the two wires in place. I nestled the round gently among the cordite granules in the untied glove.

I wrapped the cable tight round the wrist of the glove, then lashed it with tape to make it as waterproof as I could, then laid both gloves on top of the crate, picked up my AK and left.

I’d say my goodbyes later on.