Operation: Mongolia

- 10 -

The noise of Wiggins’ shots had been deafening in the confines of the shack. Donnie saw the soldiers put in earplugs as they unslung their rifles, and he saw from Hynd and Davies’ body language beside the north window that they were expecting trouble.

The gunfire woke the professor. He sat up with a start, his white face appearing ghostly in the dim light.

“What the hell is this now? Can’t a man get a bit of sleep around here?”

Donnie did the first thing that came to mind. He grabbed Gillings and pulled him down under the table. Thankfully, the professor didn’t look to be in the mood to argue. They squeezed together in the cramped space.

“Keep your head down, Prof,” he said. “Looks like there’s going to be a firefight.”

He had enough time to notice that flickering blue light showed at both the open doorway and out the north window, then felt his hair stand on end, smelled ozone on the air.

“Short, controlled bursts,” the captain shouted, then Donnie covered his ears with the palms of his hands as the shack filled with the roar of gunfire. All he could see was the backs of the soldiers and the muzzle flashes, yellow against the dancing blue, lighting up the shack like a manic disco strobe. Hot shell casings rattled to the floor and despite all of Donnie’s attempts to cover up his ears, they rang as if great bells were going off in his head.

It seemed to go on forever but wasn’t more than thirty seconds later when he heard, faintly, the captain call out again.

“Save them,” Banks shouted and the firing stuttered to a halt, leaving Donnie with ringing ears and a burnt smell in mouth and nose.

He saw the captain step out the main door between Wiggins and Davies and his curiosity getting the better of him, got out from under the table and went to stand at Wiggins’ back, looking out over the small concourse.

The wet rocks were strewn with pieces of pink, oozing mush that looked like someone had spilled a load of jellied confectionery then scattered thin, white needles among the remnants. Out in the gloom, the swathes of blue were slowly drifting away southward, soon lost in the murk and drizzle.

“Well, we know more than we did before,” Wiggins said as he put a fresh magazine in his rifle.

“What’s that?” Donnie asked.

“They’ve definitely not got a backbone,” the corporal answered. “And they fuck off quickly when we shoot at them, which is always a bonus.”

It took several minutes for the ringing in Donnie’s ears to fade and for his hearing to lose a strange, echoing, muffled quality that was distinctly unpleasant. He lit a smoke, having to fight a tremble in his fingers, then joined Banks in looking out the north window.

“Were they actually attacking us?” Donnie asked.

Banks shook his head.

“No, at least I don’t think so. They were just taking advantage of the wet ground to try to move across the rock. We gave them cause to think again, that’s all.”

“Think? I doubt there’s a lot of that going on.”

“And yet, they know enough to back off under fire. That’s not mindless behavior. Not completely.”

“They’re nothing but mouths and arses from what I can see.”

“Aye.” Banks laughed. “Much like Wiggo and yet, also like Wiggo, they’ve got the good sense to keep their heads down when some fucker is shooting at them. I wouldn’t rule out rudimentary behavior patterns among them just yet, Doctor. If I can teach Wiggo to make and fetch coffee, then anything’s possible.”

Sergeant Hynd spoke up from the left side of the window.

“Looks like the rain’s easing up, Cap,” he said.

Donnie looked out to see that some of the gloom was lifting, the weather improving from the north where the sky was definitely lighter than it had been minutes earlier. As the view brightened, the blue washes and swathes that showed where the worms congregated faded and dimmed. By the time the squad was ready to move out again, the sky was clearing fast, only wispy clouds above them and steam rising from the rocky concourse of the shack as both the rainwater and the remnants of the shot worms evaporated in the heat.

Gillings pulled himself up from under the table and although he still looked far too pale to Donnie’s eyes, he announced that he was okay to walk.

“The sooner we get going, the sooner you’ll get to retrieving my finds,” he said to Banks.

Donnie knew already, just from observing the captain, that the soldier had hardly given their gear back at the base a second thought and wouldn’t until much later, when he was sure he had got everyone to safety. But trying to explain that to the professor at this stage would only chance a temper tantrum—and in Gillings’ current condition, he might not survive one of those.

“Are you sure you’re ready for a walk?” Banks asked.

Donnie interrupted before Gillings could reply.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Captain. Me and Private Davies will make sure he’s okay.”

Banks turned his attention to young Wilkins.

“How about you, lad? This is likely to be hard going for you.”

Wilkins looked pained just to be standing up but he gave Banks a thumbs-up and a smile.

“As long as we don’t have to do a few miles double-time, I’ll be fine.”

Despite the lad’s protestations, Banks had the young private redistribute the contents of his pack among the other men so that all he carried was the camp stove in his pack and his weapon slung over his shoulder. Donnie noted that the other soldiers had no complaint at having to carry extra; indeed, they seemed keen to take on the weight if it would help the lad. He couldn’t help but make comparisons between the cutthroat every damned day competition of the University hierarchy and the casual camaraderie between these men. He’d always thought that the rigid discipline of soldiering wasn’t for him; but here he was, seeing something he was missing, something he envied.

The captain moved them out heading not east as Donnie had expected but west, deeper into the desert but keeping to the rocky track.

“Captain Banks,” he said, “I told you, there’s nowt out there but old mining installations and I don’t even know how far they might be.”

“I’m not heading for them,” Banks replied. “I’m just looking for better ground heading north.”

For the first hour, there was no sign that they would find any—there was only more of the same sandy wastes to the north. Although they could see the larger outcrop of rock on the horizon that they’d spotted earlier, there appeared to be no way to get to it without crossing open sand.

The walking was proving hard on both the professor and young Wilkins, and Banks was forced to call a rest stop. By Donnie’s reckoning, they’d only covered three miles before they were called to a halt. The lack of speed seemed to have brought the captain to a decision.

“Davies, Sarge, you stay here with the others,” Banks said. “Let them rest up a bit longer. Wiggo and I will go on ahead and have a shufti, see if it’s worth keeping on this track. I’ll fire two shots if it’s okay for you to come up to join us—the sound should travel clear enough in this thin air.”

The professor slumped alarmingly as if the act of stopping had sapped the last of his will to stay upright and it needed both Donnie and Private Davies to catch him and lower him gently to the ground. His face looked more gray than pale now, his eyes sunk in dark shadows, and when Davies gave him some water, Gillings had trouble getting his hand to stop shaking and got more of the water on his shirt than in his mouth. Wilkins wasn’t in much better shape although when Hynd asked how the lad was doing, he got the customary smile and thumbs-up in reply.

“We can’t go too far like this,” Donnie said to the sergeant. “Certainly not twenty miles.”

“The captain will come up with something. He always does,” Hynd said and once again, Donnie envied that simple faith in a superior.