Recoil

2

The rain was a solid curtain, which was now no bad thing. We could hardly see our guys until we’d virtually crawled on top of them, which meant the enemy couldn’t see us at all.

Everybody was in a line, facing the attack, wanting to know just one thing: was this the FAP? The answer was going to be no: we were too far away.

We moved to the middle of the line. I caught sight of some worried faces as they waited. I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy myself but, fuck it, we had no choice but to get going.

Sam pulled the Very pistol from its holster, crouched low and began to move. The rest of us copied, like in a big game of Simon Says. No need for words or hand signals, just do what the commander does. If he stops, you stop. It was the best way to keep everybody together.

I changed mags on the move. As I pulled up my OGs, I could hear shouts ahead, the sounds of fear and excitement as we got closer. There was even a peal of nervous laughter; maybe the boys had been having a night on the ghat.

Sam stopped; we copied. He lowered himself to his knees in the mud; we did the same.

All random thoughts and sensations were binned from my head: the rain, the noise, the thunder. Even Silky ceased to exist.

Sam got down on his belly and began to crawl. The rest of the Simon Says crew followed, and I was soon swimming through a river of warm mud, working my elbows to keep the AK clear. Rain drilled into puddles inches from my face, making them boil. My head, back and thighs were lashed.

Soon I smelled cordite again. Two adult male voices muttered to each other just five metres ahead then everything got lost under the thunder and an exchange of fire.

Sam wiped water from his eyes before pointing at the ground and making a circle with his hand. It was all they needed to know. They copied Sam’s field signal along both sides of the line so everyone knew they were at the FAP – just as they’d been trained.

We lay motionless for what seemed like hours before Sam got up on his knees, held up the Very pistol and fired. As the flare arced up into the sky the men boomed the same roar I’d heard on the airstrip.

The magnesium burned out and the fire group ceased firing.

Sam jumped up, screaming, ‘That’s us! That’s us! That’s us!’

I followed a couple of steps to his right as he charged the enemy position. The left side of our line followed; the right stayed static, on their feet, and gave covering fire.

Screaming at the tops of our voices, we stopped after three or four metres and fired into the positions, aiming at anything that moved. The right of our line took the cue to run three or four metres past us – then went static and laid down fire while we made our next bound. We were firing and manoeuvring, firing and manoeuvring.

Lightning flashed across the sky. Some of the enemy were firing in confusion, others running away or on their knees begging.

We stopped again, fired at anything that moved. I dropped two guys; one runner, one who’d stood his ground and fired.

It was gollock time. There was no time to change mags: guys couldn’t afford to get left behind, we had to keep the momentum going. Rebel screams competed with the thunder as we charged. It was carnage, but we had to keep moving.

I squeezed the trigger at shadows ahead of me and got the dead man’s click. ‘Stoppage!’

On the ground I started to change mags, but I was too slow. Our team was on the move again.

I drew my gollock, but there was a yell from Sam. ‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’

We’d done it – we were through the position.

‘Stop! Stop!’

Now came the hard part, trying to control guys who had their blood up. I joined him as he ran up and down, my arms open and waving. ‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’

Gollocks slashed at the wounded. Sporadic shots were fired into dark shapes in the mud.

Crucial and his fire group came forward to join us. Sam was busy dragging two guys away from some bodies they’d been gollocking big-time, so Crucial and I concentrated on trying to regain control and getting the rest of them to search bodies for magazines and ammo.

A jubilant shout echoed in the darkness. Someone had been discovered hiding. They dragged him out from under a body.

He wore a red spotted scarf wrapped round his head like he was king of the rappers.