Recoil - Andy McNab [102]
I got into the fire position and followed Bateman’s example. I checked how far I could move the AK, especially in the confined space. I couldn’t move along the fire trench, so would have to keep to one end. The trick was to keep as low as possible, to present a smaller target, yet still have good muzzle clearance. It was easier said than done.
A breeze brushed my face, and it felt great. The wind was picking up. Rain was on its way.
Next to be checked was the RPG, basically a simple steel tube, 40mm in diameter and just under a metre long. The middle was wrapped in wood to keep the heat off the firer. At the front end, you stick in the stabilizer pipe until the round head is locked into position. The back end is flared to help shield the blast, which it does very badly, and reduce the recoil, which it does very well.
On top two iron sights flicked up, one in front and the other about a third of the way down. There were meant to be optic ones, but maybe Lex had sold them to the guy with the fragmentation rounds.
There were two pistol grips underneath. The forward one housed the trigger, safety bar – which was the same design as the GPMG’s – and the cocking lever at the rear. The ignition was mechanical, nothing fancy, the same principle as a firing pin on a revolver’s hammer striking the percussion cap on a bullet. The rear grip was just for support, to help aim the thing. All in all, very simple, very cheap, and it weighed less than a GPMG, even when it was loaded. No wonder that, in tests, nine out of ten rebels preferred them.
I put a round into the launcher, got the weapon on the shoulder and checked out the backblast channel, making sure that when I fired it I wouldn’t be making Tim and Silky’s lives any worse by killing them. I never bothered using the safety on these things; I didn’t trust them. When I needed to fire, I just cocked the lever at the back and squeezed the trigger.
I was ready.
I had one last look at the valley in front of me, to set the mental picture before it went pitch black. The high ground at the top of the horseshoe was behind us; we were on the knoll below it, but still on higher ground than the valley floor. We had about four hundred metres of valley between us and the claymores. The Nuka mob were about two hundred metres down on our left. The valley was a couple of hundred metres wide.
The high ground to the left had four sangars on it, roughly fifty metres apart and at varying heights to maximize arcs of fire. Same on the right; another four sangars.
From my elevated position, I covered not only down into the valley, but also on to the left flank.
Sam and Standish were about five metres away, with Sunday somewhere out of sight. They were covering forwards, but could come round and fire on to the left flank quite easily and, to a lesser extent, the right.
The trench beyond them, another five metres to their right, was Crucial’s manor. I watched as he set up his RPG, plunging a grenade into the launcher. He, too, was covering forwards, but could also aim right.
Bateman was further away still, AK already in a fire position. He covered the right flank. We could all fire up at the high ground behind. There weren’t any sangars. And with all the arcs covered, we didn’t need arc stakes. We knew what the fuck we were doing.
All we had left to do for now was watch the moody light-show ahead, as the storm crept closer.
‘When will they come?’ Silky sparked up, to no one in particular.
I answered anyway: ‘Soon. Maybe fifteen, thirty, an hour . . . Who knows?’
PART NINE
1
19:46 hours
The sky emptied on us. Rain hammered at my head and shoulders, but it was a relief not a hardship. Water cascaded down my face and into my open mouth. I sucked it in greedily.
I needed to piss, and just let it happen: it wasn’t as if I was going to stain my OGs. I bent down to check it didn’t smell as bad as it had at the claymore dugout, then brought the jerry-can back up to my mouth to replace what I’d