The Hunt

58

Raff and Alonzo had volunteered to set the pipeline charges. Demolitions: it was their kind of thing.

They waited until nightfall before flitting due west, moving along the snowline until they reached the point just below where the pipelines exited the feeder lake. They crouched beside the massive steel tubes, each as high as a man’s shoulders, the roar of the water loud in their ears.

The sheer power of the through-flow and resulting friction was such that it heated up the steel sides of the pipelines, which were utterly free of snow and ice. The bare pipes plunged away like giant serpents glistening in the moonlight.

Raff and Alonzo descended a short distance, tracing the route of the pipes to where they tilted over the lip of the gorge, dropping at a seventy-degree angle towards the plant. There they unslung their rucksacks and settled to their task. At this juncture the pipes, when blown asunder, would be pointing directly at the power station some five hundred feet below, like three giant gun barrels.

From their packs they removed the shaped daisy-chain charges. Each consisted of a string of chunks of NATO Plastic Explosive No. 4 – ‘PE4’ for short – the saboteur’s tool of choice. Clay-coloured, and with a distinctive oily smell, it had a consistency like dough.

It could be sliced up, moulded, jumped on and even shot at, and it wouldn’t so much as go phut. But if you triggered a small charge embedded within it – the detonator – it would truly go kaboom.

Raff threaded the first charge around the nearest pipe. He could feel the thrumming pressure as water thundered through at incredible speed. He did a repeat performance with the other two pipes, linking the three charges to one common fuse.

That fuse was set to sixty seconds, leaving just enough time for whoever triggered it to take cover. With an explosive velocity of some 7,500 metres per second, a charge of PE4 would scythe down anything in its path. Once they triggered the detonator, the pipelines would be history.

Charges set, Raff rejoined Alonzo on watch. The night was clear and still and not another living thing appeared to be moving, either on the snowfields above or below in the gorge.

‘Anything?’ Raff whispered.

‘Nada,’ Alonzo replied through a mouthful of gum.

In his arms the big American cradled a Colt C7 Diemaco assault rifle, with an under-slung 40mm grenade launcher. In terms of lightness, sheer accuracy and raw firepower, the assault rifle/grenade launcher combo was the only choice for such a mission. All had opted for it bar Narov.

Typically, she had insisted on deploying with her trusty Dragunov sniper rifle.

‘I could murder a beer,’ Alonzo muttered.

Raff blew into his gloved hands. ‘Beer? Too fucking cold, mate. Give me a Big Mac and hot chocolate any time.’

He took a moment to check over his handiwork. As he ran his eye across the linked charges, he could just imagine the tidal wave of destruction that would tear down the mountainside once the pipelines were ruptured.

He hoped to hell Jaeger’s wife wasn’t down there. In truth, he doubted she was. As far as Raff was concerned, Ruth had very likely taken herself off to some wacky retreat. A few weeks away and a chance to sort her head. That was far more likely than her running here, to Kammler.

But still, he didn’t envy his friend’s dilemma one bit.

Sure, there had been no sign of Ruth during their observations. They’d considered attempting a close-target recce to check. But on balance, the risk of compromise was too high, and no way could they afford to mess up. Not for anyone.

Raff and Alonzo turned to their final task: camouflaging the charges. Stunted trees and shrubs clung to the side of the gorge. They scattered some fallen branches over their handiwork until it was well hidden, then set off back to the OP.

It had just turned midnight on their third day above Kammler’s lair. They expected the tungsten bomb – their Trojan horse – to be delivered shortly. Brooks was keeping a close check on it via the tracking device, and it was scheduled to be here in the next twenty-four hours.

Raff and Alonzo were back at the OP by 0300, Chinese time. It would be 1900 hours back in Germany – at Falkenhagen – and Miles had assured the team that he was on call 24/7. Time for the update that they were all were keen to hear.

Raff relieved Narov at the OP. She moved back to the rest area to try and get some sleep, Alonzo joining her. For the past forty-eight hours they’d been on half rations, and the hunger and cold were gnawing at their guts.

Raff glanced at Jaeger, who was hunched over the scope. ‘Anything, mate?’

Jaeger held up a hand for silence. His focus was one hundred per cent on whatever he could see through the lens. Raff strained his ears. He figured he could make out the distant throb of a diesel engine in the valley below.

The SwiftScope they were using was a High Performance Nighthawk, equipped with an 82mm objective lens, providing increased light transmission. Basically, it delivered incredible night vision in anything close to decent moonlight.

Artificially boosted night-vision binoculars – NVGs – which utilised infrared light spectrums to see in the dark, were all well and good, but they tended to create their own distinctive glow. Not good when holed up in an OP overlooking a hostile target.

‘Got something,’ Jaeger muttered. ‘Twelve X-rays, all armed: assault rifles. Boarding two SUVs. Loading in bags of gear. Looks like Kammler’s people are taking a little expedition somewhere.’

‘Tesco,’ Raff grunted. ‘Running short on cornflakes.’

Jaeger smiled. ‘Nah, mate. Chinese takeaway.’

Humour: the bedrock of British elite forces operations.

If that died, you might as well pack up and head home.