Battleground

Chapter Seventeen

A few miles to the south, a Black Hawk helicopter kicked up a huge cloud of dust as it came in to land. Ricki, Toby, Matt and Jack disembarked at the landing zone of the British base at Sangin, leaving the two pilots in the chopper.

The four-man SAS unit each wore ultra-modern digital camouflage made up of tiny squares, and carried M16 assault rifles with hologram sights that had been painted an olive-green colour. On their heads were dun-coloured helmets with night-vision goggles propped up on the tops. Each man wore an ops waistcoat. Ricki and Toby had their handguns attached to their waistcoats just in front of their chests; Matt and Jack had them strapped to the inside of their thighs. Personal preference. They all wore knee-pads on both legs, apart from Ricki, who wore one only on his right knee, to protect it when he was in the firing position. On each ops waistcoat, just below the neck, was a small Union Jack; and each man’s name and blood group was marked on their clothes. Toby carried a rucksack with the few essentials they’d need in the field: radio, medical pack, a bit of food.

This SAS unit was travelling light.

They bent down to protect themselves from the air currents caused by the spinning rotary blades; and as they ran towards the main base, the SAS unit passed ordinary green army soldiers running the other way, well armed with their SA80 rifles so that they could protect the Black Hawk while it was stationary at the LZ.

Ricki was the first through the gates and immediately drew stares from the regular army guys at the base. Hardly a surprise, considering the way they were tooled up: they looked like men from a different planet. He was greeted by a soldier with the bearing of a commanding officer, who held out his hand. ‘Major Graves,’ he said. ‘Always a pleasure to play host to the Regiment.’

Ricki held out his ID card, then nodded at him and shook his hand as the others congregated around and the gates to the base were swung shut. ‘Where is he?’ Ricki asked.

Graves pointed to a position about thirty metres away. A lone figure was sitting on a large ammo case. He stood out, not only because he was much younger than everybody else here, but also because he was wearing civvies: jeans, T-shirt and trainers. They were ripped and dirty. This lad looked like he’d been through the wars.

‘We need to speak to him now,’ Ricki said.

‘Roger that,’ Major Graves replied crisply. ‘His name’s Ben Tracey.’ And then, more quietly, ‘Go easy on him, guys. He’s had a rough day.’

Ricki didn’t reply. Rough day or not, Ben Tracey needed to tell them everything he knew. Everything.

The unit ran over to where Ben was sitting. Close up, he looked even more ragged than at a distance. ‘Ben?’ Ricki said.

Ben nodded.

‘I’m Ricki. This is Toby, Matt and Jack.’

‘You look different from the other soldiers.’

‘Yeah,’ Ricki said. ‘We are, a bit. SAS. Special forces. Sounds like you’ve got some information that could be useful.’

The unit listened as Ben spoke. Occasionally they exchanged glances. ‘You’re lucky to be here, Ben,’ Ricki said when Ben had finished. ‘Very lucky.’

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘I’d kind of realized that. When are you going to go back to the caves, to… to try and find Aarya?’

Another glance among the unit, then Ricki came and sat next to Ben. ‘It’s getting dark, Ben,’ he said. ‘There’s no point going up there now. And anyway, you need to prepare yourself for the worst. Not many people survive an airstrike like that.’

‘I did,’ Ben replied hotly. ‘Amir did.’

Ricki inclined his head. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And Amir’s got to be our number one priority. Those suitcase nukes aren’t toys, Ben. We’ve been on the ground for four days and hearing intelligence chatter about a major terrorist strike in the area but haven’t picked up on any details yet since we’ve been in country. Is there anything you haven’t told us? Anything that might give us a clue where Amir is headed?’

Ricki watched as Ben closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t think so. They spent most of their time talking a different language. It was only Amir that spoke English. I mean, I overheard them speaking, but it was all just—’

And then he stopped.

‘What is it, Ben?’ Ricki urged.

Ben’s eyes were still scrunched closed. ‘There was one thing they said. It was when we were locked up — I was listening through the door. I couldn’t make out anything they were saying, but there was one word they kept repeating. It sounded like khaki… no, wait… kahaki—’

Toby interrupted. ‘Kajaki,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ Ben replied, snapping his fingers. ‘Yeah, maybe that was it. Kajaki.’

Matt gave a low whistle and Ricki jumped to his feet. ‘The dam,’ he said, as the pieces of the jigsaw fitted into his head. ‘They’re going to make a hit on the dam.’

‘What dam?’ Ben demanded, but there was no time to talk about it now. Explanations would have to wait.

‘Toby,’ Ricki instructed. ‘Get on the radio back to base. Tell them what we know. All lookout posts around the dam to keep an eye out for this guy, but they mustn’t fire on him. If that thing goes off by accident…’

But Toby was already in action, stepping to one side and extracting his radio from his backpack. Ricki turned back to Ben and an idea crept into his head. It was a lot to ask of the kid, but if they didn’t stop this thing from happening…

‘Ben,’ he said. ‘This Amir. Would you recognize him if you saw him?’

Ben nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said emphatically. ‘Anywhere—’

He was interrupted by Jack. ‘Ricki, mate,’ he said. ‘You can’t be thinking of—’

But Ricki held up one hand to silence him. ‘If we’re going to stop this guy, we need someone who can give us a positive ID. Without that, we’ll just be groping in the dark. It’ll mean coming with us.’

‘Where to?’ Ben said uncertainly.

‘Wherever the trail leads. Look, Ben — I can’t force you to do this, and I can’t pretend it isn’t going to be dangerous. It is, very. Probably the most dangerous thing you’ll ever do in your life. Say no if you want. Nobody will think the worse of you. But we’re well trained. We’ll do everything in our power to look after you.’

Ben frowned. He’s going to say no, Ricki thought to himself. And then what?

‘If this bomb goes off,’ Ben said, ‘people are going to die, aren’t they?’

Ricki gave him a serious look. ‘If this Amir is doing what I think he is,’ Ricki replied, ‘we’re talking major disaster. Code red. Trust me, Ben — it could change the course of the war, and not in our favour.’

A pause. The four SAS men looked down on him and waited expectantly for his answer.

And then Ben spoke.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m coming with you.’

War, Bel realized, could be many things. Terrifying. Tragic. Exciting. But also boring.

She was bored now. Stuck in FOB Jackson with nothing to do but keep out from under the feet of the soldiers who were supposed to be looking after her but who really had more important things on their minds. Another day was drawing to a close — the sun was sinking and darkness wasn’t far round the corner — and she didn’t relish the thought of yet again trying to sleep while the brutal noise of warfare blazed all around her.

She couldn’t face another mouthful of army rations, either — those bland, sludgy sachets of almost-food that had to be heated up in boiling water before they were opened. Still, it was that time of day and Private Mears was offering to cook her up some food. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m no Jamie Oliver, but it keeps the wolf from the d—’

A sudden shout from a lookout post up on the walls. ‘Enemy approaching! Enemy! Get to your positions!’

Mears stopped mid-sentence and looked around. The whole base was a sudden hive of activity. He turned back to Bel. ‘You know where to go?’ he said curtly.

Bel, whose stomach was suddenly knotted by the fear of another contact, nodded. She ran to the protection of the sandbags where she had taken shelter during the brief rocket attack on the nearby base the previous morning, wishing that the boredom of a few seconds ago could magically return. Fat chance of that happening, though. As she huddled down by the sandbags she put her hands over her ears. She knew what to expect this time. Noise. A lot of it.

The GPMG gunner on the compound wall discharged his weapon. It thundered into the air: one burst, two bursts. There was shouting all around, chaos and confusion. And then, from outside the compound, another sustained burst of fire. Bel was no military expert. She didn’t know what kind of gun it was, or what kind of ammunition. All she knew was that it sounded intense.

A sudden shriek from inside the compound walls. ‘MAN DOWN!’ came the cry. ‘MAN DOWN!’

Bel looked over the wall of sandbags in alarm. Three soldiers were rushing up the stairs that led to the top of the compound wall. The GPMG gunner was on his back, one arm draped over the inside of the wall. He lay perfectly still, and Bel thought she could see something dripping from the end of his arm. Blood.

Another soldier took up position at the GPMG post and started firing out from the compound. Bel watched in horror as the wounded man was carried off the roof and laid on the ground just by the wall. Two medics surrounded him, ripping off his clothes to find the entry wound, shouting instructions as they went. ‘We need morphine here, now! And get me a drip.’

Bel couldn’t take her eyes off the scene, so much so that she became almost immune to the sound of the GPMG raging above her. The medics worked tirelessly, inserting a drip, binding wounds, pressing on his chest. Urgent. Relentless.

But then, almost as if someone had flicked a switch, they stopped and stood up.

‘He’s gone,’ she heard one of them say. ‘We’ve lost him.’

Bel blinked. Her skin tingled with shock. For a moment nobody in the compound moved. It was as if they had all been numbed. The faces on each and every one of them changed. They became grimmer. More determined.

And then they sprang into action once more.

Suddenly there were five or six of them on the roof, supporting the GPMG gunner with rifle fire. Their rounds cracked in the air just as Private Mears ran over to Bel.

‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.

‘Enemy on all sides,’ Mears said, his voice tense. ‘We don’t know how they got so close, but there’s loads of them.’ All traces of his chirpy, jokey nature had left him.

‘The… the dead man…’ Bel stuttered.

Mears clenched his jaw. ‘A friend of mine,’ he said. ‘And I’m not going to let them get away with it. You need to stay here, Dr Kelland. You’re the only civilian here and you need to keep out of the way. This is going to be ugly. Whatever happens, stay by the protection of these sandbags, OK?’

Bel nodded, her eyes wide with fright.

Mears stood and started to sprint towards the area of the wall where the GPMG gunner was perched. He was only halfway across the compound, however, when a massive explosion seemed to rock the very foundations. Mears was thrown to the ground as a great cloud of smoke billowed up in front of him.

More shouting.

‘The gates!’ someone yelled. ‘They’ve hit the gates!’

And as the cloud cleared, Bel saw that it was true. The entrance to the compound — those huge sheets of sturdy corrugated iron — had been blown inwards. Their edges were now splintered and jagged; more alarmingly, there was now a gaping hole looking out into the surrounding area. It was almost completely dark now, so Bel couldn’t tell what — or who — lay beyond the gates. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried about that.

Bel found herself hyperventilating. She tried to get a hold of herself as Mears scrambled to his feet and ran back towards her. His face was dirty and he had a great slash across his left cheek, a souvenir from the blast that had just blown the doors open.

‘Get down!’ he shouted. ‘They’ve blown the entrance! They could be in here any second!’

Bel hit the ground as Mears knelt in front of her, pointing his rifle in the direction of the gates. Immediately the air inside the compound was filled with rounds being fired in from outside. They hit the far wall, kicking up a cloud of dust and masonry.

‘What was that?’ Bel whimpered.

‘Enemy fire. Stay down.’

Bel wanted to. She tried to. But no matter how much she feared the flying bullets, she had to know what was going on around. Pushing herself up to her knees, she peered over the sandbag wall to see four soldiers, two on either side of the doors, their weapons at the ready. One of them held up three fingers. Then two. Then one.

‘Go!’ he shouted. ‘Go, go, go!’

The four men swung their weapons round and jumped in front of the entrance, where they started to fire, steadily and heavily. The GPMG joined in the attack and the four men walked forward.

But they never made it through the door.

The unseen enemy returned fire, not with rifles but with a more powerful weapon, a rocket of some kind. It hit one of the four men bang in the abdomen, throwing him back about five metres before it suddenly exploded in a starburst of shrapnel. Bel watched, sickened, as the remaining three men ran back, away from the shrapnel and the mashed body of the man the rocket had hit. A second soldier had just died in front of Bel’s eyes. She wanted to be sick.

Mears was cursing. ‘Air support,’ he hissed. ‘We need air support. Where is it?’

The only answer he got was another burst of fire from the GPMG as more soldiers came forward to cover the entrance. They didn’t make the mistake of trying to step through it this time. Instead, six of them positioned themselves in two columns — three on either side of the gates — and fired at a diagonal trajectory out of the compound. Their rate of fire was slow — one round every ten seconds or so. Bel just prayed it was enough to stop the enemy advancing.

Mears turned. When he saw that Bel had put her head above the sandbags, he gave her an angry look and pulled her back down. They sat with their backs against the bags. ‘It’s a stand-off,’ Mears said tersely. ‘The enemy can’t advance, we can’t fight them back. We need support from the air.’

Bel put her head in her hands. ‘What… like a bomb or something?’

‘No,’ Mears said. ‘Not a bomb. The enemy are too close to us. We need an attack helicopter, something that can hover over them. But they won’t like doing it in the dark…’ He made a strange whistling sound through his teeth, and Bel realized that he too was trying to control his breathing. ‘We need it now. We can’t defend ourselves in this position.’

Bel gave him a worried look. ‘If the enemy make it inside the compound, what will they do? Take us hostage or something?’

The young private took his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They won’t be taking any hostages…’

He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

His meaning was perfectly clear.