Dead Centre - Andy McNab [81]
The next burst included two tracer. They zinged into a wall just left of the junction, where I’d seen bodies taking cover. I quickly checked the belt. It was running fine. The green tip on every fifth round was tracer.
I kicked off at the junction itself. Five-round bursts, trying to control the amount of ammunition I was using, and also to keep the fucking thing on aim. The mount wobbled; it wasn’t bolted in properly.
Pointing down at the next ammo box, I swivelled the gun left and right. I couldn’t see any movement.
I got on the radio as the lads started to load it up. ‘Awaale?’
Still nothing.
‘Move, mate. Awaale, move.’
Two or three seconds later I heard the scream of engines. A cloud of dust billowed above the sea of wriggly tin and moved towards the junction. If Lucky Justice hadn’t known where our technicals were, he did now. All Awaale needed to throw in was a bugle call and the fucking cavalry charge was complete. None of this stealth, getting right on top of the target nonsense: they were just going for it.
10
THE LEADING TECHNICAL, flatbed heaving, came briefly into view through a gap between the shacks. At least they were outside my arc of fire. I lost them again almost immediately. Every time I saw muzzle flashes, I’d put in a three- to five-round burst. I watched the tracer’s gentle arc towards the target, 350 metres away at the most. I put another five rounds into the junction. And then another.
‘Mr Nick, Mr Nick?’ Awaale was back on the net.
I couldn’t respond. In all the excitement, he’d kept his finger on the pressle. All I could hear was his engine gunning. I had to wait for him to release it.
‘Mr Nick, Mr Nick?’ This time he remembered.
I hit the red tab. ‘Yes, Awaale, yes. Where are you?’
The driver had jumped out, and he was having a go at the targets with his AK. He fired big long bursts, which kicked off in all directions, mostly into the air. He didn’t give a fuck: he was just going for it.
‘Where are they, Mr Nick? Where are they?’
I peered into the gloom. He could be anywhere. There were dust-clouds all over the place.
‘Stop, Awaale. Stop. Can you hear me? Stop.’
I clicked off.
‘OK, we’ve stopped. Where are they? Where are they?’
‘Calm down, mate. Wait, wait …’
I wanted him to take a breath, and then we could move from there. ‘Where are you, Awaale?’
‘I don’t know …’
They’d gone careering off without a clue.
‘OK. Fire your machine-gun in the air. When I see your tracer I can direct you.’
I got nothing back.
‘Awaale?’
Five or six tracer suddenly blossomed fifty metres short of the junction, three blocks in on the left.
‘Good. I want you to turn directly towards the road. They’re very close to the junction. Is that clear?’
I had to shout so loudly I almost didn’t need the radio. The gunner was going ape-shit on the 12.7. The driver was going ape-shit on his AK. Three empty magazines lay at his feet. Only he knew who or what he was aiming at. If, indeed, he was aiming at all.
I looked up. There was another whoosh from the junction. I could see the smoke trail heading our way. I threw myself to the ground just as the thing exploded. It had landed in front of the shack. An old guy burst out of the door, screaming like a banshee. He legged it down the other side of the mound and kept on running. I didn’t blame him.
Dust and stones showered down on us.
I got back on the radio. ‘Awaale?’
‘Yes, Mr Nick.’
I could hear the engines gunning; everybody shouting.
‘Awaale? Awaale?’
Nothing.
‘I’ll keep firing until you get to the crossing. All right? I’ll fire until you get to the road. Awaale? Can you hear me?’
There were shouts from the two lads behind me. I jerked my head round and scanned the junction. A couple of bodies were sprawled in the dust. They’d got a couple of kills.