The Increment

ELEVEN

The sunset melted slowly into the line of trees stretching out beyond the fields. Matt remained still, watching the light of the day seep away. In the regiment, all his toughest firefights had been at night. In the Philippines, he'd taken a flesh wound in the leg during an attack on a communist camp; in Bosnia, he'd held a man face down in the mud, and put a bullet through his head, even though he wasn't sure he'd got the right man; in Ulster, he'd come under sniper fire during a border patrol, and dived for cover as the man next to him had dropped down stone dead.

For most people, night is a time of peace. For men like us, it's a time of war.

The surveillance of the factory was now complete: Malenkov had made notes of when the shifts of guards at the factory changed, and how many men came on each rota. It was twelve in total. Two were on towers, six in the admin block and four in the factory. They had been carrying a lot more weaponry than Matt had expected: how tough this was going to be, he couldn't say, but he knew he had to prepare for the worst.

He turned towards Ivan. 'Kit OK?'

Ivan grinned. 'It'll do.'

The last two hours had been spent constructing home-made bombs for the job. All they needed was a big, cheap, dirty bang, with lots of smoke and flames, and they'd wanted to keep the ingredients simple so they hadn't had to smuggle anything into the country. Ivan had asked Malenkov to go into town and get two dozen cartons of orange juice in big plastic jars, some packets of old-fashioned hard soapsuds, petrol and plenty of strong fuse wire. That, he told him, would be all they would need.

Together with Nikita and Andrei, Ivan had spent the last hour emptying the orange juice out of the cartons, then filling them with some petrol. Into each carton, they mixed handfuls of soapsuds. It was crude, but it made an effective firebomb. Ivan had drawn them a detailed diagram. Put a fuse to the petrol, and it would blow up immediately. The soap made the petrol stick together in little balls of burning jelly. Those balls would fly off in all directions, sticking to whatever they collided with. They would burn for several minutes, enough to send even the toughest structure up in flames. In this dry weather, the wooden factory should light up like candle. The brick admin building would probably survive, but they would clear that by hand.

'Maximum havoc, for minimum effort,' Ivan explained. 'What more can a bomb-maker ask for?'

Matt took a length of fuse wire between his hands, and measured out a six-foot stretch. Ivan took one end, and Matt the other. Matt checked his watch. As the second hand completed a minute, he signalled to Ivan to light the wire. The fuse started burning, the flame racing down the length of the cord.

'Eight seconds to burn six feet,' said Matt, looking back up at Ivan. 'You can do your calculations from that?'

Ivan nodded. 'Once you know the velocity that a flame travels along the fuse, you can coordinate all the bombs to go off at precisely the same time. It's just a matter of cutting the right length of cord.'

Matt nodded. He'd trust Ivan on that. He was a careful, precise man, who took no more risks than were absolutely essential. Just the way a soldier should be. Nervous, cautious, and alive.

The darkness had fallen now, the final dregs of the sunset disappearing beneath the horizon. Matt gathered Malenkov over to his side, telling him to bring Nikita and Andrei as well. Josef was now doing his three-hour shift guarding the tunnel entrance, and would meet them there at midnight. With Ivan at his side, Matt started to run through the plan. At midnight he and Ivan would go through the tunnel first. They would position the bombs around the perimeter of the factory, attaching them to the sides of the building with simple masking tape. They'd connect up the fuse wire, then head back down the tunnel. Meanwhile, Malenkov and Andrei would cut the one telephone wire running into the front of the factory: that would stop them calling for any reinforcements, unless they had a satellite phone. And they'd just have to hope they didn't. There was no way they could know whether they did or not. If they did, Malenkov reckoned they would have an hour maximum before the police showed up: the nearest main police station was sixty kilometres from here, and by road that took at least an hour. By helicopter, it would be quicker, but the nearest police choppers were in Minsk, and that was also an hour away by the time they'd scrambled into action.

The bombs would be blown at fifteen minutes past midnight. They'd wait sixty seconds, enough time for the immediate blast of the firestorm to blow through the building. Then the six of them would rush the compound. Ivan and Nikita would take the factory, and take out the men there. Matt, Josef, Malenkov and Andrei would attack the main admin building. Six of the guards would probably be in there, but at least one of them would come out to see what had happened. They would clip him, then move in to take out the rest. If the guards wanted to flee or to surrender they could, decided Matt. Otherwise, they would have to take whatever fate the gods of war had cooked up for them.

'Target practice,' finished Matt, speaking confidently. 'We have better weapons, and we can take them by surprise. Those are two big advantages on our side.'

Sound confident, make it clear, but don't bullshit them.

'Everyone strip down their guns and check they're in working order,' he continued. 'This is a maximum firepower job. OK. We set off in ten minutes. Twenty-three hundred hours precisely.'

Matt looked back towards Orlena, who was standing two feet behind the rest of the men. 'We'll meet you back here,' he said. 'We'll be out of there by one at the very latest, back here before two. Keep the Land Rover ready.'

Orlena shook her head. 'But I'm coming with you.'

Her voice was quiet but determined, the words delivered with total self-confidence.

'Don't be ridiculous,' snapped Matt. 'There's no room for tourists.'

'My company is paying for this mission. I get to say who stays and who goes.' She paused, looking directly at Matt, taking one step forward. 'And I say I'm coming.'

Matt hesitated. He knew he could have an argument with her, but he would risk losing the respect of the other men. Better not to start any fights you couldn't win.

'Fine,' he said. 'You get your fingernails chipped, that's your lookout.' He looked around at the rest of the men. 'Let's go.'

The tunnel was hot and sticky, and Matt could feel his T-shirt clinging to his chest as he peered up to the roof. It was three minutes past midnight. He had blacked up his face with a thick layer of cam cream he'd brought from Britain, painting thick dark lines of black and green across the side of the cheeks. His clothes were black, and he had pulled a black baseball cap over his head. When they emerged, they would be on the ten feet of open ground between the edge of the compound and the factory. In the dark, he was going to be no more than a shadow slipping through the air.

'Ready?' whispered Matt, looking back towards Ivan.

Ivan nodded. 'Let's bloody do it.'

Matt could feel the adrenalin surging through his blood, hitting his heart and pumping up his pulse. He took the pick he had left at the end of the short tunnel, and started scratching at the manhole above him. This was where they would come out in the compound. A layer of dirt had caked up over it. Using his shovel, Matt started to hack into it.

A lump of dirt came free, falling to the ground, hitting Matt in the face. He pressed his lips together to stop it falling into his mouth. Using his shoulder muscles, he struck upwards again. This time, a bigger chunk of earth fell away, collapsing inside the tunnel.

Matt repositioned the torch and, using his hands this time, took down another lump of mud. Opening the manhole cover would have to be done carefully.

Matt stopped. He could feel a whisper of air blowing through the ground above him. He gripped the manhole cover then, pushing all his strength into his hands, he started to prise it loose. Nobody had opened it for several years, he guessed, and it took several hard pushes to start getting it open. One final heave, and it started to slide open. Matt gingerly raised his hands up through the hole.

So long as I don't get my hand shot off in the next minute, we'll be OK.

Using his shoulders to lever himself upwards, Matt raised his head slowly above the ground. He kept his back to the fence, and looked forwards, swivelling his eyes sharply from right to left.

If anyone sees me, I'm going to have to make a rapid retreat back down the tunnel.

The compound was empty. Twenty yards in the distance, he could see the guards standing on the watch-towers, their searchlights flashing out on to the road and into the forest. But, as he knew from their observations the previous two nights, there was no guard patrolling this section of the fence.

He pulled himself quickly to the surface of the ground, crouched down low, and ran the ten feet towards the back wall of the main factory building. That would give him cover. There was no need to say anything to Ivan. The fact that Matt had moved forward would tell him the way was clear, and he would follow.

Ivan joined Matt at the wall, throwing down a black kitbag that was slung over his back, holding the first ten one-litre petrol bombs. Another ten were stashed at the bottom of the tunnel. He took five of the bombs, handing them to Matt, along with a length of fuse cord. 'Make them at least twenty yards apart,' he said. 'You move right, and I'll go left.'

Matt started to crawl along the length of the factory. He kept his head down low, pulling himself forward by his elbows. It was seven minutes past midnight now, the air was hot and sticky, and the sweat was starting to drip along his spine.

Keep your eyes out of view, he reminded himself as the arc of the watch light swung past: it was beaming out of the compound, while they were inside, but it could still illuminate their position if they weren't careful. Like the Cat's-eyes on a motorway, they will catch the light and reveal your position.

He stopped. Taking the carton from his back, he ripped a length of masking tape, placed the bomb next to the wall, then strapped it firmly into place. The building was solidly built, probably no more than five years old. It was going to take all the explosive power they could muster to blow it up. He jammed the cord into the top of the petrol bomb, took a moment to make sure it was securely in place, then crept forward. Beneath his breath, he was counting out the paces. Twenty yards translated into roughly sixty elbow strides. The distance measured, he strapped the second bomb into place, then moved forward again. Ten minutes past midnight, noted Matt. They were making progress.

'OK, another ten, then we're done,' whispered Ivan, as Matt met him back at the meeting point.

Matt took the cartons, then started crawling back along the wall of the factory. He strapped the first bomb into place, then the second, quickly securing the cord in each one. He started moving forwards, aware of the blisters that were going to be boiling on his arms by the morning. A searchlight flashed forward, brushing against his fingers. He stopped, freezing his body, burying his face into the dirt.

They see us now, we're corpses. A man lying on the ground is just target practice.

His breath silent in his chest, Matt waited. He counted to fifteen, waiting to see if the light came back again. Nothing. Trying to bring his breathing back under control, he moved forward again. Faster, he told himself, dragging his body forwards. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here.

'We're done,' whispered Ivan, as he met up with him again. 'Let's go.'

Ivan dropped first into the tunnel, Matt following quickly behind him. The darkness suddenly engulfed him and, without a torch, he had to use his fingers to judge where the walls were as he moved painfully forward. He could feel his breath quickening as he approached the exit.

I've never liked dark, enclosed spaces. And knowing there's a dozen guys up there waiting to shoot us like pheasants on a moor doesn't make it any better.

Ivan's hand reached down to grab him, pulling him up through the constricted exit of the tunnel. They were ten yards out of the compound, hidden by the trees. He stood up, shaking the dirt free from his body. Malenkov was standing next to him, with Andrei, Nikita and Josef close by. In the insipid torchlight, he could tell from the pale colour of the men's skin that they were nervous: they had taken on the ghostly appearance of men who knew they might die in the next few minutes.

'Chin up, lads, this is going to be a walk in the park,' whispered Matt.

Malenkov said something in Ukrainian but Matt couldn't judge the tone. I'll just have to hope he's not telling them to bugger off if it turns rough, and leave the foreigners to face the fire.

'Set?' he said to Ivan.

Ivan cut a length of cord, put it in place and sat back. 'Just need a match,' he replied.

The voice was brimming with certainty and confidence, but Matt could detect the traces of anxiety underneath. Like surgery, bomb-making looked like a science, but was really an art. You needed intuition as well as knowledge. And that could mean the difference between life and death.

It was now thirteen minutes past midnight. 'Back down into the tunnel,' said Matt. 'We wait in there until Ivan blows the fuse. After the explosion settles, we move forwards, with me in the lead.'

He looked around. The men were all nodding. They understood.

Matt glanced towards Orlena. She was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, plus heavy combat boots. Her hair was pinned back behind her head, and across her cheekbones she had smeared her cam cream with the delicacy and precision of a fine mascara.

You have to admit it. She looks like a peach in combat gear.

'And you?' said Matt, looking at her directly. 'You're sure you don't want to stay here?'

Orlena shook her head.

'OK,' said Matt tersely. 'But be ready, all right. A firefight scares most people witless. I've known brave men crack up, so if you feel yourself fainting, just fall back and we'll try and come back for you later. You get a bullet in you, just bite your tongue, and try to hang on until one of us is ready to help you. But remember, regiment rules apply here. We'll only come back to help you after the main objective has been secured. If that means you die, that's just bad luck.'

Orlena nodded, the trace of a smile on her lips. 'I understand.'

'OK,' said Matt, looking around at the group once more. 'Let's bloody do it.'

Down into the darkness again. Matt slipped back along the tunnel, the contours of the hard mud increasingly familiar to him. The space was constricted, claustrophobic, and Matt could sense himself becoming uneasy as the walls closed in around him. Up ahead, he could smell the air leaking through the hole sliced into the surface of the compound. The fuse was lying at his side, like a vein threading through the ground. Matt heard the sound of a match being struck, then smelt the sulphur and cord as the fuse started to burn. He pressed his back tight against the wall of the tunnel as the flame sped past him, disappearing up through the ground, and across the surface of the compound.

Doesn't matter if the guards see it, he realised. By then it will be too late. Just time to say a quick prayer.

Matt steeled himself, taking a deep breath, then relaxed his muscles. When the bombs blew, he knew the shockwave would roll through the compound with the force of a tornado. The fireball that was about to detonate would vaporise anything it touched, sucking all the oxygen out of the air, making it tough to breathe for several minutes.

Get ready. Hell is about to be unleashed.

The explosion burst through the air at sixteen minutes past midnight, splitting Matt's eardrums. The bombs detonated a mere fraction of a second apart, the din of the explosions rising in intensity as each bomb added to the symphony of violent noise. After thirty seconds, the noise of the bombs subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, replaced by the chilled, eerie sound of the firestorm unleashed by gallons of sticky petrol. It was like a deadly breeze, wafting through the air, lapping over and consuming everything it touched.

Will the guards flee as soon as they know they are under attack?

In an instant, the compound turned completely still. Matt opened his mouth, tried to breathe but realised the oxygen had thinned out, and he was taking in mostly carbon monoxide. His lungs contracted as they struggled with the noxious air. A wind had started blowing through the tunnel as the explosion sucked the oxygen out of the compound, the air rustling past Matt's face.

Sixty seconds, he told himself. Let the fire do its damage. Then we move forwards.

The time ticked by slowly. He could hear the flames, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the sound of a man screaming. Matt had heard men burn to death before, and had learnt to recognise the terrible music of their slow, agonising demise. The lungs and vocal cords kept on working even as the rest of the body was convulsed by the flames, and the screaming grew louder and louder as the heat incinerated all the internal organs. Then, just as it reached a crescendo, it slowly faded, as the lungs and vocal cords burnt; the screams turned into a wheezy, whistling noise, before the victim finally fell silent.

When I go, let it be a bullet, not a fire that takes me.

'OK,' Matt shouted. 'Move out. Move out.'

Matt could feel his heart pounding like a drill against his chest as he pulled himself clear of the tunnel, and emerged blinking into the compound. The firebombs had lit the place up like a shopping mall on Christmas Eve. The light of the flame was brilliant, dazzling, and in that moment Matt could feel the intense heat singeing his skin. He paused for a split second, adjusting his eyes to the glare, then threw himself on to the ground, holding his AN-49 in front of him.

This is the moment of maximum danger. They know they're under attack, and whoever is left alive will be looking for us right now.

He could sense the other five following behind him. With one glance, he checked they were all in position, then moved himself into a crouching position and started to edge forwards. His gun was cocked, and his finger tensed on the trigger. In front of him, the main factory building was engulfed in flames: first the main walls started to shake as the fire progressively weakened it, then the roof started to quiver, as the walls stopped supporting its weight. Within less than a minute of the fireball igniting, it was clear the building would not survive the inferno.

'Is that one done?' hissed Matt, looking towards Ivan.

'Finished,' snapped Ivan. 'It'll collapse in the next half-hour or so.'

Matt looked forwards. The admin building was fifty yards away, set behind the factory. The flames were licking up into the sky, but so far had not touched it. He glanced towards the lookout towers. They looked abandoned. The sentries had either been knocked out by the force of the explosion, or retreated inside.

'Send two men to check the towers,' said Matt, looking towards Malenkov. 'The last thing we need is sniper fire from above.'

Malenkov barked at Josef and Andrei. The two men fanned out, their guns held in front of them, firing rounds of bullets into each sentry tower. If anyone was left there, they should be dead by now.

Matt watched Josef edge forward, his gun high above his head. He loosened off a couple more rounds of fire, then slung his gun over his back. Standing next to the sentry tower, he gripped the wooden slats that led up towards the turret, climbing slowly.

The explosion rocked through the air, catching Matt off balance. Instinctively, he threw himself back down on the ground. When he looked up again, the watch-tower had been reduced to smouldering embers, blown completely apart by the bomb that Josef must have triggered. Of Josef, there was no trace.

He was dead. Probably hanging in a thousand pieces on the trees in the forest, realised Matt. Poor bastard.

'Christ, what the fuck was that?' he hissed, looking towards Ivan.

Ivan was crouching next to him on the ground. He looked up, sniffing the air. 'I can't smell anything,' he said. 'So they must have used Semtex. Some kind of soft trigger on the watchtower. A booby trap.'

Andrei was standing next to them now, his face drawn, sweat running down his cheek and his hands shaking. Malenkov hardly appeared to have registered what had happened. He was shouting furiously, dragging Andrei down to the ground. This is going to be tougher than we thought, Matt realised. We should stop worrying about whether we kill the guards or not — this is kill or be killed.

They were waiting, they were prepared — not for us, maybe, but for something.

Only a few moments are left to us, Matt judged. We still have the advantage of surprise. If anyone is left inside there, they are disorientated, confused and frightened. That's the time to strike them.

Matt stood upright, using his arm to motion the rest of the squad forward. They were already one man down, and from now on the plan would have to be changed by the second. This isn't just taking out a factory. This is a battlefield.

He skirted to the left, avoiding the sparks spitting out of the burning factory, his gun held in front of him. A silence had descended over the compound. He looked towards the building and, from the corner of his eye, sensed he saw something moving in one of the windows.

'Take cover,' he barked.

A shot rang out. Matt could see a clump of earth kick up from the ground as the bullet hit the baked mud, ricocheting back up into the sky. He hurled himself on to the ground, rolling behind one of the walls running close to the compound, and let off a volley of fire. The bullets streamed through the night sky, but Matt could tell the guard was just shooting into thin air. The admin building was about eighty feet long and twenty wide, and was built from concrete breeze blocks, with six windows and only one door.

'Covering fire,' he shouted to Malenkov. 'We need to get up close.'

The volley of fire started up immediately, aimed straight at the centre of the admin building. It was enough to deter whoever was trying to shoot from the windows. Shielding his ears from the deafening roar of the gunfire all around him, Matt ran forwards, covering the twenty yards to the main building at a fast clip, then dropped to the ground next to the building. His breath was short and rapid. Ivan was hard behind him, followed by Malenkov, then Andrei and Nikita. Finally, Orlena ran into position behind them. Matt glanced into her eyes, and part of him was pleased to see the fear there. Sweat was running down the side of her face. But her limbs were solid. There was no sign of nervous shaking, or muscular collapse, the two most common signs of people who were about to crack under the stress of combat. She was frightened, but she was holding herself together.

She's tougher than she looks — and she looks pretty tough.

'Clear the building, clear the building,' shouted Matt.

A yard above where he was crouching was one of the windows. The glass had already shattered, fragments lying splintered on the earth around them. Matt pulled himself upwards, threw the barrel of the AN-49 across the ledge of the broken window and sprayed the interior of the room with bullets. His arms moved methodically from right to left, while his head remained tucked just below the window ledge. They had no plan of the inside of the building, and from now on, they were going in blind, with little idea of what resistance they might expect.

'Can we blow it from here?' asked Matt, looking towards Ivan. 'Save ourselves getting shot to pieces.'

Ivan shook his head. 'Can't get the bombs around it,' he answered. 'They'll pick us off from the windows if we try.'

'OK,' said Matt grimly. 'We take the buggers room by room. With luck there's only six guys left, but it could be eight or nine.'

Regiment rules, he reminded himself. Maximum speed, maximum aggression. You'll have time in heaven to work out a detailed plan.

The room they were now entering had taken a hundred bullets in two minutes. Even a cockroach would have had trouble surviving in there, Matt decided. He pulled himself upwards, looking above the window ledge. The concrete surface of the wall was pitted with holes from the gunfire, and the empty metal cases were filling the floor like the leaves in the park in autumn. One desk in the corner of the room had been shot to pieces, its wooden legs collapsing.

But no corpses.

Matt vaulted through the window, landing roughly on the concrete. He paused, listening hard for the sound of anyone approaching down the corridor. Fifty yards away, he could hear the roar of the burning factory: there was a crashing that sounded like a wall coming down. But here inside the admin building, it was still quiet. Matt motioned to the others to follow him, and within a minute they had all landed inside the room.

'We'll take the corridors,' said Matt. 'Ivan and I will go right.' He looked towards Malenkov. 'You go left with Andrei. Nikita and Orlena can stay here.'

'We should go back for the wounded man,' said Malenkov.

'Forget him,' snapped Matt. 'He was blown to pieces. There's nothing we can do for him now.' He jammed his fist against the light switch next to the door, but nothing happened. Someone's switched the power off, or the bulbs have all been shot out, it was impossible to tell. He flicked on a pocket torch, and flashed it down the corridor. The walls were made of drab, stained concrete and completely bare, stretching twenty yards to the back of the block, with two more doors leading off it. Matt began to edge quietly forward, his AN-49 gripped tightly in his fists. The first door was ajar an inch. He walked quietly up to it, kicked it wide open, and started to spray the room with bullets. Behind him, Ivan was crouching on his knees, his gun held to his shoulder, letting off another murderous round of fire.

We shoot first and ask questions later. Correct that. We shoot and get the hell out of here. Sod the questions.

Behind him, an explosion rattled through the corridor, the force of the blast throwing Matt off balance. He could feel a sharp pain in his left shoulder where it had struck the ground. The AN-49 had been thrown from his grip. He lifted himself up, aware of the pain in his muscles as he did so, and wiped a thick film of dust from his eyes. 'What the fuck?' he shouted.

Malenkov was already running back down the corridor towards him. His clothes were torn, and there were cuts right across his face and torso. Behind him, Orlena and Nikita.

'Andrei's dead,' said Malenkov, his voice sombre. 'He went over some kind of tripwire, and set off a bomb. Killed him instantly.' He was panting and out of breath, and blood was trickling down the side of the skin. 'The rest of us are lucky to be alive.'

'This place is a bloody death trap,' said Ivan, his voice tensing.

'You think there are more of them out there?' said Matt, looking towards Malenkov.

'How the hell do I know?' answered Malenkov. 'At least six including the one who shot at us earlier. And the place could be stuffed with traps and bombs.'

'Snipers, tripwires,' said Ivan looking towards Matt. 'Room-to-room combat. It's a Russian speciality. Remember Stalingrad?'

Matt paused. 'You think we can blow the place now?'

Ivan nodded. "We've got the kit back at the tunnel. Hold this room, then destroy the rest of the building with firebombs.'

'OK,' said Matt quickly. 'Let's do it. Fight our way through this place, and the whole fucking lot of us are going to be buried here.'

From the back of the room, Matt could see Orlena stepping forwards. Dust was covering her hair, turning it from black to a whitish grey. And the force of the blast had nicked her left arm, cutting open a small wound. 'No,' she said firmly. 'First we search the place, then we blast it.'

Matt clenched his fists together. In the regiment, he'd taught himself lots of techniques for controlling his anger. As the Ruperts flung ridiculous commands at him, he knew all about taking deep breaths, counting to ten, and biting his tongue as he tried to get on with shooting the enemy rather than his own commanders.

But I've never been told to risk my life by a woman before.

'Search it be damned,' he said, his voice rising. 'We're two men down already, and the whole place is booby-trapped. We're facing a hidden enemy, and we haven't even got a map of the building. It's fucking suicide.'

He watched Orlena closely, but not a single muscle on her face twitched. 'I said we search it,' she repeated coldly.

Matt took a step closer, leaning angrily into her face. 'The job was to destroy the compound,' he shouted. 'So we'll destroy the place, and get the hell out of here.'

Orlena tossed a lock of dusty hair away from her face, and glanced back up at Matt. 'As I might have said once already, I pay the bills, so I give the orders. We search the place, then destroy it.'

'What have they got here?' asked Ivan. 'What are we looking for that's so important?'

Orlena kept her eyes trained on Matt. 'Like I told you, it manufactures counterfeit pharmaceuticals. And I need to make sure all the formulas have been destroyed.'

'So how come it's rigged up like the Pentagon?' growled Ivan. He looked towards Malenkov. 'What's in here, Sergei? What are they hiding?'

The Ukrainian shrugged. 'I'm getting paid to fight, not to ask questions,' he replied, his tone guarded. 'So as long I'm on my feet, and I've got a gun in my hand, I'll fight.'

Orlena looked towards Matt, then Ivan. 'If you're running away, so be it. I can't stop you. But I'll tell the Firm you got scared and flunked out of the job. And I'll let them take the appropriate action.'

Matt tossed a gun into Orlena's hand. 'Nobody's damn well scared. But we're two bloody men down already,' he barked, 'so you've just been drafted as the reinforcements.'