Recoil

6

I aimed down into the valley entrance and squeezed off twenty rounds as more bodies streamed through. There must have been two hundred of the fuckers swarming towards us, ghatted up and wanting to kill everything in their way.

My right hand was on the pistol grip; my left gripped the phone tight against the butt so the display was almost in my eye. I fired another burst. My face juddered as the working parts slammed backwards and forwards 800 times a minute. My ears rang.

Tracer floated down into the killing area and the rounds spread out into their beaten zone.

I adjusted fire slightly left and squeezed the trigger again. Bodies dropped, but the wave kept coming. I now had to squint against the sun that had just tipped the horizon.

Crucial screamed and two more RPGs kicked off, flying towards the fire group. The knoll was shrouded in a cloud of backblast smoke that mirrored the black diesel fumes belching sky-wards from the drum.

My link was coming to an end. I grabbed another belt and it snaked from the ammo box. I attached it to the last few rounds still on the gun, and carried on firing.

Sam grabbed the spare gun. ‘Stoppage! Stoppage!’

He slammed back the cocking handle and squeezed the trigger. His head jerked in unison with the working parts, as if he was having a fit.

I fired another long burst and felt the heat of the weapon wash over my face and hands. Crazed screams and shouts rolled ever closer.

Most of them were kids. I tried to focus to keep my mind on range and keeping a good sight picture as they ran forward and I cut them down.

I saw green. The LED on the phone was glowing.

I pressed receive as another two RPGs kicked off and Sam’s gun thundered alongside me. I crouched down in the trench and jammed a finger in my other ear.

‘Nearly there, man.’