Recoil

11

I rolled the Prudence over the sat phone again. ‘Silky, got any surgical gloves?’

‘None sterile, only discarded.’ She pointed at a small heap of bloodstained swabs and latex.

‘I’ll be back for them in a minute.’

I left the tent. The kids were lined up in four lots of two, all facing down the valley. One of each pair stood trembling next to an RPG launcher; his equally scared number two cradled a round. Crucial screamed down at them, pushing a couple on to their arses to hammer home a point. His voice was choked, but it had nothing to do with him being hoarse from all the shouting.

Sam was still on stag, his face like granite.

‘You all right, mate?’

‘Just tell me what’s happened.’

‘I got Lex.’ I cut all the Crazy Dave shit; it did-n’t matter. ‘He’s just over two and a half hours away.’ I didn’t cut the Standish shit; he needed to know. ‘I told him if I see him again, I’m going to kill him. And this time I want to see him again.’

‘You might need to join a queue.’

‘I’m going to make a marker down there. Hold on to this.’ I handed him the sat phone. ‘If I’m not back, Lex is expecting fire control orders.’

Sam checked the watch round his neck. ‘We’re cutting it fine. First light’s just before six.’

I picked up four belts of link and dumped them inside the tent. ‘I need you to take off all the bullet heads. Bend them sideways on something hard until they come out. Empty all the propellant into two of those gloves.’ I didn’t give Silky and Tim a chance to ask why. I needed to get to Crucial.

He had the four skinny, pot-bellied teams doing loading drills. Sunday was nearest me, and number one on his launcher. He held it upright so his number two could put the stabilizer pipe down the weapon, making sure the percussion cap was aligned with the hammer.

These kids were coming to life, but not in a good way. Crucial was really playing the part, being aggressive, throwing the switch that turned them back into automatons.

Sunday struggled to get the weapon on to his right shoulder. He didn’t hold it the way I was used to, left hand on the rear grip. He used his right, and had his left on the trigger. The other little one stood immediately behind him so the launcher rested on his shoulder too. He brought his right arm, skinny as a stick, round to Sunday’s front, and the other one went to his left shoulder in an effort to make a stable platform. Even loaded, these launchers weighed less than a GPMG and 200 link, but to these fuckers it probably felt like a ton.

Crucial wiped a sleeve across his face. He wanted me to think it was sweat, but I could see it was tears. I filled him in on what had happened on the sat phone, and what I was going to do.

‘Hurry back, man. I need to get them into the trenches and drilled. I need your help.’

‘Soon as I can.’

I grabbed the plunger and the firing cable.