Recoil

15

05:47 hours

The crates were loaded. Davy and the guys were up top on stag. There was nothing to do but wait. Even the general was quiet.

I studied my burned hand in the moonlight, and watched Sam try his best for the kid. There wasn’t a lot more he could do: the wounds were plugged up and probably infected, but at least he was alive.

Sam was deep in thought. There was a lot more going on in there right now than commanding this job. I felt bad enough, and that was without worrying about an afterlife and a Big Guy with a white beard I had to answer to.

Standish broke the silence: ‘They’re over the coast and inbound. Let’s get on the wagons.’ He punched numbers into the pad; Sam called the guys and we started to board.

‘Commissioner, I’m preparing the team now. I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve made visual contact with the aircraft.’ He passed the handset to Annabel and went to look through the hole in the wall.

The rebels were still out and about, even this close to first light. Fires burned, vehicle lights bounced around in the distance. The boys were still partying hard. But come first light, I wasn’t sure which was going to be more dangerous – that lot out there, or the Cobra two-ship escort piloted by trigger-happy Americans.

We’d soon know. Light was brushing the far horizon and the sun would follow shortly. The Renaults coughed themselves to life and the compound filled with fumes.

At least it kept the flies off.