Pirate - Duncan Falconer [119]
He suddenly saw a light flicker. And then another.
‘On the bomb run!’ he shouted to Downs. ‘You’re on heading! Straight ahead!’
19
‘All stations stand by!’ Downs shouted into his radio. ‘Hang in there another minute and we’ll solve our weight problems.’
Which was precisely what every other crew was thinking. They were each carrying a dozen mortar shells which was, for most of them, the difference between staying in the air and crashing.
The rain hammered men and machines. But more and more lights appeared within the wood ahead. Some electrical, others kerosene-powered. Stratton could only hope that any sentry wouldn’t be looking skyward. That they would all be under cover or heading for it in the downpour. That the sound of the rain hitting the trees would cover that of the glider engines until they got directly overhead.
‘Dizzy here, not sure if we’re gonna make it!’ came a voice over the radio.
‘Ditch your mortars!’ Downs shouted. ‘Or enough of ’em to keep you up. The rest of you, don’t forget to pull the pins!’
Stratton didn’t need reminding. He was already removing the pins from the first row of mortars on each side of him.
‘Anywhere in particular?’ Downs shouted to his partner.
Stratton couldn’t identify anything within the wood of more interest than any other part. Not yet at least. He hadn’t seen inside the camp anyway.
As they drew closer, he could make out the dark clearing at the foot of the slope where he had killed Hopper. He suddenly had a flashback and could see the man on his knees waiting to die.
Stratton snapped back to the task in hand and took a couple of mortars from each pouch. Then everything seemed to slow down. A beeping sound broke his concentration. It was his GPS warning him they were on target.
A flash of lightning lit up the wood and for a second he could see signs of life: sheets of plastic glistening in the rain, several vehicles. He thought he saw someone running. He identified a hut directly in their flight line and decided that would be the target for his opening salvo. It no longer mattered to him if they were seen or not. In a few seconds he would open up the attack. This was the start of his revenge and he prayed it would be a satisfying night.
He sat back holding a bomb in each hand by its tail fins and dangled them either side of him as he concentrated ahead.
A bearded jihadist commander wearing a hooded raincoat left the cover of his tent and cleared both of his nostrils as he walked the short distance to the edge of the wood. He paused at his favourite pissing tree and hiked up his dishdasha to relieve himself. He looked skywards and a frown creased his brow as he saw a strange thing in the sky. He removed his hood to get a better look. A flash of lightning revealed the broad, dark wings of what appeared to be a giant bird approaching. He saw the two men beneath the single wingspan. He knew nothing about gliders. But he did feel that something very bad was about to happen and he turned and ran as fast as he possibly could.
The fighter charged between the well-spread trees, their lower branches having long since been removed for firewood or construction. He glanced back as he ran to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. Sure enough, just above the trees and not very far behind him was the black beast with its purring growl which he could now hear.
He began to scream as he neared the closest hut. The door opened and a fighter stepped outside. The commander charged inside to grab his gun, yelling at half a dozen men lying around a cast iron stove.
A couple of seconds later the bird passed overhead and the hut exploded in a ball of smoke and flashing flames.
Stratton felt the shockwave pulse skywards. Bits of shrapnel and wood flew past him, a couple of pieces penetrating the glider wing. He looked over his shoulder to see the bright yellow flames light up the wood.
‘A little more height, if you please, Mr Downs!’ he shouted.
Downs laughed hard. It was like a high-pressure gas bottle of tension had been released. All the planning