Recoil

12

The An12 came in fast and low.

The ramp was down, and a succession of blue fifty-gallon drums of aviation fuel tumbled down it and out of its arse. I caught a glimpse of the loadie as he yanked frantically on webbing straps to release even more.

I didn’t wait for them all to fall, just fired into whatever was already in the mud. The one-infour would do the rest.

Some of the drums had taken bodies with them into the mud. High-octane fuel spurted from the holes I’d drilled and three of them ignited, one after the other. As soon as there was enough heat, the fuel gases would expand and rupture the casing, and we’d get all the explosions we needed.

Crucial was up with a launcher. He had a better idea. ‘Cover! Cover!’

I ducked into the trench as he kicked off a round into the valley.

Death came quickly to anyone within forty metres as the RPG detonation ignited the fuel and the shockwave vaporized it into an instant fireball.

The heat washed over us as another round kicked off.

The screams from burning bodies below us were drowned as the second round set off a chain reaction.

We jumped back up to man the guns, but this time there was nothing to fire at.

Human torches blundered into each other as flames engulfed the front half of the valley. The rest was filled with survivors running for their lives.

Lex was high in the brilliant blue sky, sunlight flashing off his wings. I brought the phone to my ear. ‘We’re not taking fire.’

‘After that I should fucking hope not, man.’

He couldn’t resist a little victory waggle as the aircraft banked and roared back up the valley.

Not even the cicadas disturbed the shocked silence around us. The devastation was almost too much to take in. Bodies were scattered around our fire trenches by the dozen, but down there, among the flames and smoke, they were strewn like trees after a hurricane.

I turned to Sam as the choking cloud enveloped our position.

Crucial was still in his trench, holding his hand to his mouth. ‘I lost a diamond!’ Blood dribbled over his fingers. ‘I lost one of my diamonds!’

Budget-size heads popped up over the parapets of the two trenches. RPG propellant still burned in the mud behind them and the smell of cordite drenched the air.

Silky emerged from her trench and I did a plunger mime and a thumbs-up.

‘Come on, let’s go.’ Sam was in the backblast channel, growling like the pale-faced, skirt-wearing oatmeal savage he was. ‘Game’s over. Switch on.’

A bony hand reached up and closed round my thumb.

I looked down to see Sunday on his arse in the bottom of the fire trench. ‘Mr Nick. Mr Nick . . .’ There was just a hint of a smile. I gave him a bigger one back.