Recoil - Andy McNab [111]
‘Come out! Allez, allez!’ I didn’t expect it to happen; I just wanted whoever it was to know they’d been heard. ‘Identify yourself!’
I kept up first pressure on the trigger.
Still both eyes open, I aimed the weapon and torch towards the noise, ready for the slightest movement.
I heard it again; something between a gasp and a cough.
Torch beam and muzzle frozen on the stack, I eased myself upright and leaned into the weapon. ‘Show yourself! Allez, allez, allez!’
I shuffled forward a foot or two. The shadows moved with me.
I kept left. My back scraped against the side of the dugout, but the adrenalin killed any pain. I kept each pace firm and deliberate, my feet never crossing. I needed a stable firing platform.
I didn’t call out again. I didn’t want to miss the slightest sound, or provide cover for whatever was in front of me to move.
More noise: a stifled, frightened whimper this time.
I came level with the boxes. The torch beam moved further into the dead ground behind them.
The barrel of an AK toppled to the ground in front of me, rusty, the parkerization long gone.
I reached out for it and the beam fell on a kid. He was lying against the back of the dugout, his swollen stomach torn open by a gunshot wound.
He was panting hard, fighting for air.
I knelt down next to him. ‘Hello, mate. Mr Nick, that’s me.’
His huge eyes gazed up at me but there was little reaction in them as I ran the light across his face.
‘Let’s have a look at you, yeah?’
I eased up the chest harness that covered almost all of the little boy’s torso and lifted his blood-soaked shirt. I saw his intestines ripple with each tortured breath. He was in shit state.
‘That’s too bad, mate.’ I kept up my Mr Nice Guy act as I rolled him on to his side. ‘Let’s have a look round the back, see what you got for us there.’
The exit wound was three times as big, a mess of torn flesh and exposed rib. There was nothing I could do for him here. I doubted there was much that could be done for him up top, beyond strapping him up and trying to keep what was left of him in the right place.
‘Let’s get this harness off you, then Mr Nick will take you to see Mr Tim and Miss Silky.’
His face screwed up with pain and his heels dug into the ground as he tried to fight it. His head, too large for his underfed body, lifted towards me. ‘Mr Nick, Mr Nick . . .’
‘That’s right, mate, Mr Nick. I’m here, you’ll be OK, come on, up you get.’
As gently as I could, I unstrapped the harness and pulled the little fucker up a couple of inches, then slipped off his shirt. It must have hurt like shit, but he didn’t scream; not a good sign. I folded the shirt lengthways, then wrapped it as firmly as I could around his back and stomach. It wouldn’t stop the bleeding, but it might stop him falling apart in my arms.
‘There you go – not long now, mate, before you’ll be playing football on this airstrip I know. Lots of kids there to play with. It’ll be a good laugh, yeah?’
I slipped my left hand under his legs, and my right behind his back, picked up my weapon and lifted. I’d be fucked if we got within range of Kony’s lot, but I wasn’t going to leave him to die here, all on his own. I could feel warm blood oozing down my arms. I clicked off the torch and headed outside.
He cried weakly each time I took a step, and never once took his impossibly wide, pleading eyes off my face. As the moon broke through the scudding clouds again, I knew we presented the world’s easiest target, but I didn’t want to spill any more of this kid’s guts than I had to on the way up. I moved as fast as I could to the ANFO site, then on to the tents.
I pushed through the flaps and into the dull glow of a Tilley lamp. It had been turned right down so the light wouldn’t show through the soaking canvas. Either Tim or Silky knew a lot more than just doctoring, or Bateman had given them a bollocking about staying tactical.
Silky had her back to me as she leaned over Tim. His legs, still bound together,