скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Charlie Two One and Two. This is Thunder One.’ The Jaguar was past the target and climbing hard above the hills to the north.
What the hell is this? Janner wondered.
What the hell’s going on? Finn almost swore.
‘Bad news. Just been told to abort the mission.’
‘Why?’
‘Sorry. Have to exit area. Good luck.’
Because the negotiators in Vienna have said they were on the verge of a breakthrough, so do nothing to rock the boat, Janner thought. He waited for the next salvo from the hills. One minute, two, three.
The guns have stopped, Kara thought. We’re going to live, going to survive. Adin’s coming home and little Jovan will be okay. Nine minutes since the last rounds, ten. Suddenly fifteen, twenty. The planes have done it, Kara whispered to Jovan: the United Nations have saved us. The blue of the sky had turned to purple and the purple was deepening into black, the first stars above them. Told you we could handle it, Janner knew the negotiators in Vienna would be telling each other, told you we could call their bluff. Kara held Jovan in her arms. Almost laughing, almost crying, not sure which but not caring.
The twilight was gone and the night was cold and hard, the silence hanging over the valley and the stars in the sky above it. They had already eaten today, Kara told her son, but tonight they would eat again, tonight they would celebrate. Then the fire in his forehead would cool and the pain in his stomach would go away.
The moon was coming up, pale and ghostly.
‘In light of Serbian ceasefire at Maglaj, UN has ordered no further air action, therefore withdraw immediately,’ Finn and Janner were told. ‘UN have also decreed chopper pick-ups in Maglaj – Tesanj pocket might be deemed provocative, therefore patrol back through lines.’
‘Get something inside us before we go,’ Finn told his team. They took out the ration packs and opened the tins. Shone the torches on the map and plotted the route out.
‘Time to go.’ Janner’s team confirmed the exfiltration and began to leave, Janner leading and the team strung at five-yard intervals behind him.
Jovan’s temperature was suddenly soaring. The sweat was running from him and she could barely hear his breathing. ‘Is it hurting again?’ Kara asked him. ‘Where’s it hurting?’ She undid his coat and felt his stomach, then his abdomen, to the right and lower. ‘There, Mummy.’ He was crying now, clinging to her, the fever burning. At least the shelling was over, at least she could get him to the doctor in Maglaj new town. At least at night the sniper wouldn’t be waiting for her to cross the bridge. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she told him. Please come home soon, she prayed to her husband, please be all right. She lifted the boy carefully and dressed him in his warmest clothes and coat. The night was dark now, but there was no time to wait till morning. She pulled on her own coat and scarf. What about Adin, what about if her husband came home that night? She hugged the boy again then sat at the table and began to write a note.
The thunder came from nowhere, the whine of the mortar and the express train of the shell. Oh no, she almost screamed. Not the shelling again. Not on the town. Not when she had to get Jovan to hospital.
Mortar, incoming – Janner heard the whine. ‘Down,’ he was shouting, already hitting the ground himself.
The mortar landed fifty metres away. Another shell was coming in, striking the ground a hundred metres down the slope. The bastards weren’t going for the town, they were going for him. He and the others were up and moving, fast but orderly, running for the slight dip where they had established the base, the dip that might give them some protection. More crumps, suddenly more whines. The dip was fifty metres away, they were slipping on the ice, crashing into the branches of the trees. The mortars were landing again, closer this time. He heard the whine then saw the flash in front.
Oh Christ, he was aware he was thinking coldly and calmly, oh no. Not Kev, not Geordie John. The bodies were catapulting in the air, the earth and ice showering over him and the shrapnel hitting him. Oh Christ not me. The pain was somewhere on his face, somewhere in his chest, somewhere round his legs. Another mortar round was coming in. Head down and pray, he told himself, then check the others and get to the bunker. If he could find the others, if he could move.
The round hit the ground twenty metres from him and he felt the shock, waited two seconds then looked up. Max was on the ground five metres in front of him, moving slightly and moaning. At least he assumed it was Max, because Kev and Geordie John had been in front when the first round took them out. He half stood, made sure his legs weren’t giving way, and shuffled forward. ‘Legs have gone,’ Max told him. ‘Bit fucked up. Can’t move.’ Another round was coming in. Janner ignored it, unstrapped Max’s bergen and grabbed his shoulder, tried to lift him, pull him. Tried to move him whichever way he could. It’ll hurt like hell, old friend, he didn’t need to say, but no option. Move if you can, he didn’t need to tell Max, give me all the help you can.
The pain in his chest was gone, his body was suddenly numb, but his legs were holding. He was pulling, hauling. The dip in the ground ten metres from him, five metres, another round coming in and Max trying to walk, trying to get to his own shattered knees and help them both. Janner passed something, cold and bloody, realized it was Kev. Another round was coming in. This is the one, this time they’ve got us. He jerked Max forward and they slid into the dip.
‘Maglaj ceasefire broken,’ MacFarlane reported on both nets.
‘Friendly forces under enemy fire,’ Finn informed Hereford. ‘Repeat. Friendly forces under enemy fire.’ The other men in the patrol were checking the locations of the offending mortar and artillery piece. ‘Serbs deliberately targeting Charlie Two Two.’
It was too late to call an air strike, the bloody decision-makers at the UN would be too busy wining and dining to make any decisions. Only one thing to do and one way to do it. Only one way of stopping the guns shelling the men on the other side of the valley.
‘You have the positions?’ he asked the others.
‘Not moved since we targeted them earlier.’
‘Charlie One to Charlie Two.’ He used the motorola. ‘Charlie One to Charlie Two. Over.’
‘Charlie Two receiving.’ Janner was on the floor of the dip, Max half across him and blood everywhere.
‘Charlie One. What are you like?’
‘Two missing, presumed dead. Rest of patrol in minimal cover. One injured, I’m also wounded.’
‘You can walk?’
‘I can try.’
‘Give me twenty minutes.’ Which was a bloody eternity. ‘When they stop shelling, get as far out as you can. Romeo Victor is a group of houses over the ridge.’ He gave Janner the co-ordinates.
Romeo Victor – RV – rendezvous point.
‘Got that,’ Janner told him.
‘Oboe Oboe,’ Finn told Hereford. ‘Bringing out own wounded.’ No code ranked above OO. When an SAS patrol signalled Oboe Oboe everything but everything stopped. ‘Repeat. Oboe Oboe. Bringing out own wounded. Hot extraction. Landing site not secure.’ He gave them the details. ‘Will confirm co-ordinates. Radio silence from this point. Repeat. Radio silence.’ Because where we’re going and what we’re going to do, we don’t want anyone knowing. Because if they do then we’re dead as well.
Time to forget the UN. Time to ignore the rules. Time to cut throats.
‘Okay, let’s do it.’
The shells and mortars were falling on the town again. Falling on somewhere else as well, somewhere in the hills, which she couldn’t understand. But falling on the town again. Kara heard the thuds and felt the vibrations. Please God no, she prayed. Please God tell me what to do. Unless I get Jovan to the doctor’s he’s going to die, but if I try he’ll be killed anyway.
‘Finn and the boys are on the way,’ Janner told Max. ‘Be out of here soon.’ He waited till the next round exploded then looked out of the hollow, shouted for Kev and Geordie John. Kept shouting for thirty seconds then ducked inside again as another round exploded.
Kev’s body – assuming it was Kev – was ten metres away. It would be dangerous, but Kev would have done the same for him. Just enough time to get out and check if Kev had a pulse, if Kev was alive. So what would he do if he was? One he might be able to get to the RV, two no. And what about Geordie John? ‘Be back,’ he told Max. He waited till the next round exploded, slid out of the hollow and pulled himself along the ground. Pull Kev back in, which might be difficult, or waste time finding the pulse? Half Kev’s head was missing, Kev hadn’t even known what hit him. Geordie John presumably the same. Janner rolled back and tumbled into the hollow as the next round landed.
The bridge across the river, a kilometre and a half from the town, was thin and rickety, and swinging slightly in the night, the snow ghostly in the PNGs. The river beneath was cold and grey and running fast, but the bridge itself might be wired. Finn knelt and felt carefully around and under the first sections, the others covering him from the shadows. There were no wires. He nodded and ran across, allowing for the swing of the bridge, then slipped into the dark and covered the next man. There was no cold now, just the adrenalin. The last man came over and they turned up the slope.
The sites were a hundred metres apart, the support huts fifty metres back from them. Himself and Steve to take the first, Finn indicated, Ken and Jim to deal with the second. Knife job, no noise. Because if the guns simply stopped firing the soldiers in the back-up hut might think the gunners on duty had received a change of order, whereas if there was small-arms fire they might investigate. The guns were still pounding. One minute – they set their watches on count down.
Twenty minutes, Finn had said, therefore five minutes to go. The bastards had his range now and were pounding the shells in. ‘You ready?’ Janner asked Max. He’d discarded almost everything, destroyed the radios. Four minutes to go. ‘It’s going to hurt like buggery,’ he told Max, ‘but it’s the only way.’ It’s going to hurt me as well, because I don’t know where my head is going and the pain is in my legs again and my chest feels like it doesn’t exist.
He ducked as the next round came in.
‘Ready, Max?’
Christ, Max was a mess, his legs hanging disjointed and his face and body mangled as hell.
‘Ready, Janner.’
He half-lifted Max so that his body was across his shoulders and Max could still carry his Heckler, still use it if he needed, and began counting since the last round. A minute between rounds now, never more than a minute and twenty seconds. In the distance the other guns and mortars pounded the town. Thirty seconds since the last round. Forty-five. Minute gone. He waited for the next incoming round. Finn would have done it. Finn and the boys wouldn’t let him down. One minute twenty, one thirty.
Go – he heard himself shout, heard himself scream.
He was out of the bunker and trying to run. Max bouncing on his shoulders and telling him he was okay. Up the slope of the hill fifty metres, then turn along the contour line – he had worked it out on the map, knew exactly what he had to do, drummed it into his head so he would do it automatically. Christ, Max was heavy. Christ, his legs and his chest and his head were suddenly hurting. He was running slower now, little more than a stagger. Control it, he told himself, keep it calm and measured, just get up the first fifty metres and you’re okay. Still no incoming rounds, still the wonderful blissful silence. Except for the pounding in his head and the heavy metallic rasping in his lungs. Thanks, Finn, thanks, lads. He turned right, along the hillside, the woods green in the night sights and his feet slipping on the ice.
‘You okay?’ he asked the man on his back. ‘Okay,’ Max told him. The rounds going into the town were like echoes in his head, the trees around him and the slope of the hillside making it difficult to move. He was walking now, holding on to the instructions Finn had given him and the directions he had instilled into his brain. Can’t be far now, halfway there already, probably more. He was no longer walking, was on his knees, forcing himself forward. Bit like selection: when you think you’ve had it, that’s the point you start really going. Bit like counter-interrogation: get your story fixed in your head and stick to it. So he was going well, going great guns, was getting there.
He was bent forward now, was on his hands and knees, the pain tearing at his chest and the ice and trees cutting into him. Don’t think about it, don’t think about anything. Just keep going. Finn and the lads will be waiting at the RV, and the chopper will already be airborne. Nice pint of beer at the end, nice fag to go with it. He was crying now, on his face and his front, reaching forward with one hand and grabbing anything, pulling himself and Max on, Heckler still in the other hand. Doing well, doing great, you old bugger. Christ he must have passed the RV point a hundred years ago. He reached forward again and grabbed the tree stump, pulled himself and Max up to it, lifted his face from the ice and reached forward again, felt for the next thing he could, pulled himself forward again. Tell Max to mind his legs on the stump, part of his mind warned him, tell Max to keep his legs clear.
The shelling on the town was continuing but the shelling on the hillside had stopped. Jovan’s fever was burning now, his breathing shallow and his lips moving, as if he was praying. Kara knelt by him and wiped his face and hands. Don’t worry, she told him, everything will be all right soon; you’ll be okay soon. She wet the flannel and held it against his lips. Heard the scream.
Like an animal caught in a trap. Like a fox when its leg is torn off. Except that it wasn’t an animal. It was a man.
Someone’s hurt – her mind was numb with the cold and the shelling and the shock. Someone’s been hit by a shell. Except there hadn’t been a shell before the scream. Her mind was still numb. It’s all right, she told Jovan, everything is fine. She dipped the flannel into the water again and cooled his face again.
Adin – it came out of the darkness, out of the black. Adin was outside. Adin had left the front line and was coming home. Adin was hurt, was trying to reach her and Jovan even though he was wounded.
Not Adin, it couldn’t be Adin, because Adin wouldn’t come that way. But could she take the risk …
She smiled at the boy and kissed him. ‘I’m going to get something.’ She wiped his forehead again. ‘I’ll be back in two minutes to tell you a story.’
She pulled on her coat and laced her boots. Made sure Jovan was comfortable and opened the door, slipped through it and closed it quickly so as not to let the cold in. Crouched in the dark and listened for the sound, listened for her husband.
‘Sorry, Janner.’ Max’s voice shuddered as his body was shuddering.
‘All right, Max. No probs. Almost there.’ The shells were coming in again, falling on the old town, falling near them. He was hardly moving now. One hand, the hand with the gun, trying to reach out and the other holding Max’s wrist and trying to pull him. The night sights were getting in the way, but he and Max needed them to see where they were going. Fuck me, part of his mind was saying, the places you take me. Ten green bottles, part of his brain was singing as he had sung with his wife during the last stages of labour when their first child had been born. Ten green bottles hanging on the wall, and if one green bottle should accidentally fall. You’re losing it, Janner; stop thinking about Jude, stop thinking about the kids. Because if you do you’re finished, you’re on the way out. The shrapnel was cutting through his chest now and the shells were bursting round him, his head was down and his face was scraping on the ice. You’re making it, he told himself. Just keep it up, just keep going.
The shell was coming in. He heard it explode. Heard the other explosion which it detonated. Oh Christ, he thought. Oh Jesus bloody Christ. I’m in a minefield.
Kara heard Adin, saw Adin. Dark and black against the snow and the ice. The shells and the noise and the hell pounding down on him, pounding down on them both. She was lying on the ground, wriggling forward trying to protect herself from the bombs and the guns. Adin, she whispered, no noise coming out. It’s me, Adin; please move, Adin. Don’t be dead, Adin. The shell was coming in, close to them. She ignored it, ignored everything.
Saw him.
Christ the pain in his head and his legs and his chest. Forget the pain, pain only exists when you acknowledge it. Got to get to the lads, can’t let the lads down after all they did so you could get this far, can’t let Max down. Christ the bloody awful fucking pain. Don’t give up, don’t give up now, don’t ever give up. Because you’re regiment, because you’re a Cornishman. Almost there now, Max. Almost made it.
He saw her.
Oh God – she felt the fresh fear. Not Adin, not anyone she knew. Not even a man. The shape in front of her was black and red, no face, especially no eyes. Just the face of something from another world staring at her.
Christ – he was reacting automatically, instinctively. Heckler coming up and finger on trigger.
The fear still froze her. Froze her body and her mind. Why no face, the panic screamed at her; why no eyes?
Janner’s finger was easing on the trigger, mind and body functioning instinctively.
She understood why she couldn’t see a face, why she couldn’t see the eyes. She had seen someone like this before, seen four men like this before. Except then they had been helping her, then they had been disappearing into the woods at night, then the planes had flown over and the food had parachuted down.
‘Ian …’ she remembered the leader’s name. ‘English?’ she asked. ‘Aid,’ she said. ‘Food drops?’
Except that it wasn’t Ian. Except that the man two metres from her was wounded and in pain. And the man behind him, the man he was carrying, was even more badly injured.
‘English?’ she asked again, her voice almost lost in the fear.
The eyes looking at him were wide with fright and the face framed green in the PNG was a woman’s.
‘English?’ Janner heard the words again. ‘Food drop?’
Ian Morris took a patrol in to organize a food drop – part of his brain pulled out of the numbness. Ian Morris had an interpreter – he remembered the briefing. A woman, not sure where she lived because she met them at their operating base.
‘English,’ he said. ‘Friend of Ian’s. Help me.’ The voice seemed distant, as if it was no longer his. ‘Two of us. Can’t move any more.’ It was as if the night was still and silent, as if the rounds were not falling round and on them. Got to trust her, got to trust someone. He took the pressure off the trigger and stretched out his hand towards her.
Their fingers touched, palms sliding across each other. Hers cold with ice and fear, his red and slimed in blood. She held his wrist, he hers, grip clamped like a vice. He tried to help, tried to pull himself and Max forward.
‘Minefield,’ he told her.
Oh God – she remembered what Adin had said, remembered the different explosions as she had left the house, as if the shells had detonated something else in the woods.
She let go his hand and he knew she was going to leave him. Can’t blame her, a distant part of his brain told him. On her own and she might make it back; her and one of them and the chances were falling; her and two and they were all dead.
Another shell landed thirty metres away.
‘You have a knife?’ she asked. What am I doing, she thought. Why am I doing it?
What the hell did she want a knife for? Janner let go Max’s arm, felt in his belt, and gave her the knife. ‘Don’t move,’ she told him. Christ – he understood why she wanted the knife and what she was going to do.
Slowly, carefully, she eased the tip of the knife into the ground, pressed it through the ice. Repeated the procedure. Made sure the area between her and Janner was clear. Then she turned and edged up the track made by her knees and hands.
There were no mines, she began to think; perhaps Adin was wrong; perhaps they hadn’t been laid. There were no mines, part of Janner’s brain told him; he’d been wrong about the different explosion. He saw the moment she froze. Sensed – split second before – the metallic contact as the tip of the knife struck something. Leave us, part of him wanted to tell her, save yourself. Except save herself and he was finished. Why was she doing this, she wondered; why was she risking her life when Jovan was sick less than a hundred metres away? She marked the location of the contact with her scarf and moved past it, suddenly rigid with fear and almost unable to move. Came to the place where the animal tracks were all along the route, and therefore where she was safe. Except that animals were lighter than men. She turned and crept back to the two men.
‘Can’t move both of you.’ She ducked as another round came in. ‘I’ll take you, come back for the other.’
Can’t abandon Max, Janner thought. And if she takes one, no way she’s coming back for a second. ‘Can’t leave Max,’ he told her.
‘I’ll take Max and come back for you.’
No way she would come back, he understood, but no way he could get Max out by himself. No way he and Max would get out without her. And if she got Max out then he might just make it by himself.
‘Okay.’
She crawled round him, half-dragged half-carried Max along the track to the point marked by the handkerchief. Don’t touch it, she told herself, make sure he doesn’t. Another shell came in. She eased him round the scarf, made sure his trailing leg didn’t touch it, hauled him clear of the woods and across the neck of open ground to the house. God he was heavy, God she could barely pull him. She opened the door, lifted him inside, and laid him on the floor.
Okay, Janner, he told himself. Nice and steady and you’ll make it. His chest and legs and head were hurting again, and he could barely move. Christ, he couldn’t move. Remember the scarf she put down, remember to be careful when you get there. Except he wasn’t going to get there, wasn’t going to get anywhere. In the sky above he heard another mortar, ducked and flinched as it landed and exploded, felt the tremor as it exploded. Close, he thought; too bloody close. Don’t give up, a voice was telling him, never give up. His legs were trying to stand, his fingers were gripping the ice and his arms were trying to pull him. His body was shuddering and he knew he wasn’t moving. The rounds were coming in again. Fuck, he thought, he was finished, and they hadn’t even launched an air strike against the fucking guns that were trying to kill him. Fuck – the strength was almost gone now. Fuck – he was going to die. One more effort, he told himself, one more try. He stretched out his hand and felt the trembling, felt the shaking. Felt the woman’s hand grab his.
‘Help me,’ she told him.
Didn’t think you were coming back, he almost told her. If a squaddie was doing what she was doing he’d get a DSO, he thought, perhaps an MC. And if it had been in war and witnessed by a superior officer, possibly even the big one, possibly the Victoria Cross. ‘Okay,’ he said.
Even though he was now barely conscious, she noticed, he did not let go of his weapon.
The shells were still falling. They were almost at the scarf, were round it, the trees like ghosts above them and the rounds falling round. This isn’t Bosnia, Janner thought, this isn’t 1994; this is 1914, this is bloody World War One. They were past the scarf and almost at the edge of the woods, were through the garden and stumbling into the house, Jovan’s eyes staring frightened at her. ‘It’s all right,’ Kara told him, told the two men. She moved the table back to allow them more room, knelt by them and tried to help them. Both were badly injured, bones broken and bodies ripped by shrapnel. Oh God how can I help them? Oh God what can I do for them? What about my poor Jovan? Where is my husband?
It’s all right, Janner tried to tell her, someone’s coming for us. The blood frothed at his mouth and he made himself stop crying with the pain. It’s okay, he tried to turn, tried to tell Max. Finn and the lads will be here soon.
She knelt by them and wet their lips, knelt by Jovan and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
