Recoil

4

The gas regulator on a GPMG is located beneath the barrel. As a round is propelled by the expanding gases, it controls the pressure with which the working parts are pushed back to load and fire its successor. The less gas that’s allowed to pass through the regulator, the slower the rate of fire.

I turned the metal dial until it was fully closed, then counted back six clicks. That should give me a good 800 rounds a minute; any more and it would be hard to control. When these fuckers came back, it would be in strength. I wanted as many rounds as possible to land in the weapon’s beaten zone from now on.

‘Silky, Tim and the boy. We’ve got to get them into cover, Sam. They can take my trench.’

He nodded and scrambled towards the tent while Crucial kept covering. I grabbed my AK and spare mags and followed.

There was no argument. Silky started gathering their gear while Sam grabbed the bottom end of the cot and I took the head. ‘One, two, three – up.’ We lifted Tim and the boy and started to shuffle them out.

We lowered them into the backblast channel with a bump that made the boy cry out. Good, he was still breathing, still feeling pain.

‘That’s me back on the gun,’ Sam said. ‘Quick as you can.’

I shoved the AK at Tim. ‘You know how to use one of these?’

He managed a smile. ‘I’ve been here long enough.’

I lobbed the two extra mags on to the cot. ‘Just in case.’

He checked the safety lever, not as fluently as one of us three would, but he knew what he was doing and that was good enough.

The injured boy wasn’t happy at all. He stared at the weapon, transfixed, as terrified as if it was aimed at his head.

‘What am I supposed to do with this from down here, Nick?’

‘If the shit hits the fan, Silky’ll have to drag you up into the backblast channel.’

Tim laid the weapon the other side of the boy. ‘Nick . . .’

I stayed where I was for a moment. ‘Yep?’

‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’

‘Just thanks.’

Silky hobbled out of the tent. I jumped out and grabbed her hand. ‘Drop the gear.’

I dragged her towards Sam’s trench and pointed to the plunger. ‘When I give the word, untwist the handle, pull it up, then push down for all you’re worth, OK?’

High-velocity cracks sounded ahead and to the right of us.

‘Get in the trench! In the trench!’

Crucial was already bellowing orders to his two teams. I gave her a shove, and jumped in next to Sam. ‘You see ’em? Up on the lip there?’

He was still aiming down the valley. ‘Hold your fire.’

Two RPGs kicked off almost vertically into the air, and even this far from Crucial’s trench I could feel the warmth of the backblast on my face. A cloud of acrid smoke engulfed us and my nostrils filled with burned propellant.

Crucial was already legging it to Sunday and the Chuckle Brothers as the rounds dropped and soft-detonated. Anyone below them would have been blasted with shrapnel.

Butt back in the shoulder, both eyes open, I watched the valley as the next two RPGs kicked off in quick succession.