The Watchman

Sixty-Two

‘Jesus,’ Tober muttered, watching as I produced a small green box from my backpack and flipped open the plastic tabs. ‘You came ready. Were you a boy scout in a former life?’

‘No. I didn’t rate the uniform.’ The box contained a basic gunshot trauma kit. I’d hoped I wasn’t going to have to use it, but the dice falls the way it does.

We were about a click away from the villa, and I was being ultra-careful with the use of a small LED flashlight to see what I was doing. Tober was sitting propped against the rear wheel of the pickup, which should hopefully shield us from anybody looking out this way. It would also be easier to hear somebody approaching than it would inside the cab.

I lifted the lid and took out shears, rubber gloves, bandages and some vacuum-packed wipes, and did my best to gently clean the area around the wounds with the addition of iodine for good measure. I slapped on gauze packs and trauma wound dressings and wrapped a bandage as tightly as I dared around his torso and tied it off, then did the same for his leg.

He didn’t say much, didn’t even grunt at what was surely painful, but nodded when I’d finished. He looked pale but game to go on. I handed him some cephalexin tablets to ward off infection, and he swallowed them without question. It wasn’t certifiable medical treatment, but if I could stop him bleeding out and keep any bacteria at bay until we got some proper help, he stood a good chance of making it.

‘How does it look?’ he queried, touching his side and hissing in protest as the movement stretched his ribcage.

‘It could have been worse,’ I told him.

‘How?’

‘It could have been me.’

He smiled through the pain and mimed a weak punch at my head. Battlefield humour; it works every time.

‘So who was the one you left behind?’ he queried. He was talking to keep himself alert. ‘The one you’re cut up about?’

I didn’t want to answer but I needed him awake, too. ‘I was leading a four-man unit in a mountainous region. We’d been given bad intel and got ambushed and split up. One man went the wrong way and got shot, but we only found out later.’

‘That wasn’t your fault.’

That was true, but it felt like it. We were all highly trained in escape and evasion, and capable of looking after ourselves. In such situations each of us was expected to make our own split-second decisions. But sometimes training isn’t enough. You need luck, too.

Tober didn’t pursue it. Maybe he knew what it was like. ‘You rang London just now?’

‘I did.’

‘I take it they’re not sending a Chinook to give us a nice comfy ride home, then?’

‘Not exactly.’ I told him what Vale had said about the frigates being a long way off, and didn’t layer it with sugar. He was experienced enough to know what the political situation was, and that if there was going to be a fast pickup, it would have happened by now. We were going to have to make our own way out of here and the sooner we started, the better.

‘Fair enough,’ he murmured. ‘Shit happens, right?’ He lay back and was soon breathing evenly, if a little heavy. It didn’t sound great but at least he was still alive.

Perspiration was making my ribs itch. I’d almost forgotten about the bullet skimming my side, and checked it out. I found a two-inch burn mark and a faint smear of blood. Not even a flesh wound. But it was going to hurt like a bitch later on, so I dabbed it with iodine and slapped on a plaster to prevent infection, and swallowed a couple of cephalexin tablets just in case.

Next I moved out a short distance and took a few minutes to check our perimeter, using the scope to pick up any light clothing or movement where there shouldn’t be any. But everything was quiet and there were no signs of pursuit. I returned to the truck and found Tober awake and wincing with discomfort.

‘You OK?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. Stings a bit when I laugh, that’s all.’ He gestured away with his chin. ‘We good out there?’

‘We’re fine. No signs of a search but we’ll need to make a move soon. Can you stay awake for a while? I’m going to check out the boats near the villa.’

‘Sure thing, boss. Find us a good one, will you?’ He told me what to look for: plenty of fuel, all the leads and cables in place and how to find them, and some water. ‘We could be out at sea for a while,’ he finished, ‘so don’t pick us a dog, right? I don’t swim so good with holes in me.’

‘I promise.’ I handed him the Vektor, which he’d find easier to use than the AK, and left him to it.