Operation Syria

— 22 —

The shooting started before Maggie and the others were a quarter of the way up the slope. It was hard going, rock and loose pebbles underfoot, and they often slid back a step for every two they took upward. Brock and Wilkins were lagging ever farther behind, Brock being unable to put any weight on his bad ankle, which meant the two of them were negotiating the slope like a team in a three-legged race and with little success in prospect.

Below them, only now reaching the bottom of the slope, Banks and Hynd fought a rearguard action against a growing army of spiders, taking them out a single shot at a time, then backing away before finding another target.

Wiggins turned to Davies.

“Get the women up top and make sure it’s all clear,” he said. “I’ll give Wilkins a hand with Brock and hang back to back up Cap and Sarge.”

“Bugger that women and children first shite, Wiggo,” Maggie said. “You know I can handle a pistol. Hand it over and I’ll do my bit. Joe can take Kim if she wants to go.”

Kim took Maggie’s hand again.

“As you said, bugger that for a game of soldiers. I’m staying.”

“God save me from mouthy women,” Wiggins said with a wide grin. He took his pistol and handed it to Maggie.

“I know,” she said before he could say anything and gave him her best Glasgow accent. “Aim the pointy end at the fuckers and keep firing until they bugger off.”

Wiggins grinned again.

“My sisters are going to love you.”

He left her standing with Kim and Davies and went back five steps down the slope to where Wilkins and Brock struggled over a patch of loose pebbles.

“Miss?” Davies said.

“You’d better start calling me Maggie, or there’ll be trouble,” she said. “And I’ve got a gun now.”

It was Davies’ turn to grin.

“I was going to say, we’ll wait for those three to catch us up, then we make a push for the top.”

“What about your captain and sergeant?” Kim asked.

Davies pointed down the slope.

“They’ll be fine.”

Maggie wasn’t so sure of that but the two men were alive and backing away slowly from an advancing swarm of spiders. The smaller ones had become more cautious, coming forward more slowly now in the face of the rifles. But that had only served to give the larger, cattle-sized beasts time in which to come up out of the caverns and join the attack. The nearest of them was only ten paces below the two men and coming on fast. The sergeant took it out with a shot in its eyes but two more immediately scuttled into the vacated space and the two men had to retreat to avoid being overrun.

It took Wiggins and Wilkins another minute to get Brock up to where Maggie stood with the others. The wounded private was clearly struggling, his face gray and lined with pain at every step. Davies had them put the man down on a rock and Wiggins and Wilkins took guard while Davies bent to look at the ankle.

Maggie saw it was bad, but worse than that, she smelled it was bad. The bandages, fresh not that many minutes ago, were soaked through with stinking black and green fluid and black necrosis showed in his flesh both above and below the extent of the bandage. Brock’s eyes fluttered and he struggled for breath.

“I’m done,” he said. “I can’t go any farther. Go on without me, I’ll cover for the captain and sarge.”

“Don’t talk shite, lad,” Wiggins said. “You got this far, didn’t you? On your feet, Private. That’s an order.”

To his credit, Brock made the attempt and got halfway up before his leg gave way beneath him but that brought a fresh flare of pain and a yell from him that echoed around the chamber even above the gunfire from below. It also brought another wash of stench from his venom-soaked bandages.

Maggie wasn’t the only one to take note. The giant white spider lifted up its front legs, tasting the air in the same manner as she’d seen the smaller ones do outside when they caught a whiff of poor Jim White’s remains.

Three of the large spiders in the forefront of the attack at the foot of the slope also mimicked the giant’s response.

They think he’s food.

Brock looked up at Wiggins.

“Thanks for looking after me, Corp,” he said. “Tell my maw I went out fighting.”

He looked up at Maggie and winked.

“Bait, eh? That sounds like a plan to me.”

Before any of them could move to stop him, Brock rolled away to his right, sending himself tumbling in a flurry of loose rock, dirt and pebbles, not down towards the captain and sergeant but off to one side, heading directly toward a large mass of web.

“Badger, get the fuck back here, that’s an order,” Wiggins shouted but the private was already thirty, forty yards away, tumbling and rolling. By this time, Banks and Hynd were in full retreat and catching up to their position fast. A large number of the spiders broke off from the hunt, front legs raised and tasting, before turning and making directly towards where Brock had finally come to a halt, stuck tight in a fibrous mass of web.

Luckily for him, he had his arms free and got his pistol out in time to put two spiders down that were almost on him.

Wiggins was yelling profanities when Banks and Hynd arrived at their position.

“What the fuck happened?” Hynd asked as Banks put two shots into a large spider. It fell backward and took four more with it as it rolled away in a tumble of rock and rubble, buying them precious seconds of respite.

“Badger’s playing the fucking doomed hero,” Wiggins replied.

They all looked down the slope and saw Brock fumble in his jacket. The flare of yellow and orange as he flicked on a lighter showed as a bright spark in the gloom.

A mass of scuttling spiders encroached on his position. His yell of defiance carried clearly up the slope.

“Come and get it, fuckers.”

Brock applied his lighter to the web below him.