Dead Centre - Andy McNab [82]
I bunched my fists, as if gripping the firing handles. ‘Keep going, boys, keep firing …’
I sparked up the radio again. We just needed the Benny Hill music for this performance to be complete. ‘Awaale?’
Tracer stitched its way across Lucky’s position as Awaale’s team blasted straight through the intersection like a demented cavalry charge, bouncing over the two bodies as they went.
I jumped back onto our flatbed, took over the gun and directed rounds towards Lucky’s side of the junction, into walls and roofs and the shells of ruined buildings, wherever I saw anything moving.
Lucky’s technical emerged from cover to take Awaale head-on. Awaale’s driver spun his wheel so the boys behind the cab could lay down fire without zapping him and the boss if their barrels dipped.
I punched three-round bursts into Lucky’s metalwork from my vantage-point. The tracer burrowed into the dirt, burning for a couple of seconds until it died. His gunner didn’t hang around. He leapt off the back and legged it before he got the good news. The driver slumped motionless against the steering wheel.
I gave it one more burst in case any of his mates were still inside. Fuel must have been leaking from a ruptured tank. The tracer ignited it. The whole area was suddenly a riot of yellow and orange. Lucky’s infantry turned and fired back from the flickering shadows.
Instead of standing back in case they were needed, Awaale’s second technical rumbled forwards and kept right on going. The only area that didn’t get raked with fire was the ground beneath the gunner’s feet.
I kept my fire to the right, taking on any hint of enemy movement. There was shit on down there but no one cared. Both sides fired like gangsters, side on, with their AKs in the air. I stopped and let them get on with it. My nose filled with the stink of cordite. The barrel was smoking hot.
I clambered down and waved at the driver and his sidekick. ‘Let’s go, lads. Chop-chop.’ I clapped my hands. We had to move on. I had a meeting to go to.
I climbed into the cab. My two new recruits hauled themselves onto the flatbed.
We thundered down the hill. It was well past time to get the fuck out of there and get on with my day job. We closed on the killing zone. I drove past the doorway where I’d gripped Awaale. I made a left turn at the junction, slow and wide enough to make sure the gun had enough play to point where it was most needed. I thrust my hand out of the window and gesticulated wildly. ‘That way, mate. That way.’ I doubted he’d hit anything, but at least he wouldn’t be aiming at me.
We spotted his crew almost immediately. They were dragging three bodies from behind a wall. They shared the cigarettes they’d lifted from the dead men’s pockets and loaded Lucky’s weapons onto the unarmed technical.
Awaale was nowhere to be seen. I started flapping. If I lost my English speaker, I was fucked. I picked up the handset. ‘Awaale. Where are you, mate? We’re back at the junction. Where are you?’
Silence.
‘Awaale?’
Then I heard my own voice coming from the burnt-out shell of a building.
11
HE CLAMBERED OUT of what had once been a window. He was a very happy boy. ‘We killed some, Mr Nick, and the others turned and ran. No Lucky Justice, but this is still a good day. We’ll do this again. And again. Lucky’s crew will get the message. The general’s crew are back in town.’
He thrust up his bloodstained palm, inviting me to give him a high-five through the window. I fucking hated high-fives.
‘You’re right, Awaale. If Lucky’s still alive, you can see why he was given the name. Now, can we go and see my friends? I really need to know they’re safe.’
His boys were busy mutilating the bodies with knives, rocks, and then a burst of AK for good measure. The corpses were left behind; they were the message Awaale was talking about.
I slipped into the back of Awaale’s technical. Awaale wiped his hands clean on his trousers and resumed his place in front. Music blared from every cab. AK rounds stitched another message into the sky. Every mobile within reach sparked up, in case anyone