Recoil

1

I gave the firing cable a few feet of slack from where it disappeared into the glove, then a couple of turns round my left wrist to prevent it jerking loose, grabbed the plunger, then legged it to Sam’s trench. ‘Here, control this fucking thing.’ I dumped the firing device with the cable still attached. ‘Back soon.’

I opted for the direct route, a straight line downhill. I could just see the valley floor as a thin arc of dull light appeared above the treeline in the distance.

I skidded and slid, then fell on my arse and sledged the rest of the way, mud building up fast between my legs. I banged into a rock and fell sideways, but managed to hang on to the AK and the cable, keeping the crate top and gloves tight against my chest.

I staggered to the full oil drum and leaned against it for a few moments, fighting for breath. There was no time to hang around. I didn’t want to be caught out in the open once the sun was up.

I dumped the gloves on the crate top and floated it on the surface of the diesel, then unravelled the cable and ran to the store.

No glimmers of light in here. It was still pitch black.

I switched on the torch and scanned the floor frantically for slabs of PE. I found two. That was all I needed. Plastic explosive burns. I’d often used half a stick to light a fire, or heat water or food in a mess tin. It’s only dangerous if burned in quantities of more than twenty kilos. Then it generates enough heat to detonate.

Back at the drum, I sandwiched the gloves between the two slabs of PE, then secured the firing cable at the base of the drum with a rock.

When I pushed the plunger handle down, the spark from the cable wires would ignite the cordite in the gloves. It would burn like mad for five or six seconds then ignite the HE, which would burn furiously at a very high temperature, incinerating the crate top and igniting the diesel.

The resulting beacon would burn and belch smoke for hours.