Recoil - Andy McNab [115]
From time to time I talked to the kids, even though I was pretty sure they didn’t understand a word. ‘Know what? It wasn’t that long ago I was sitting in Raffaelli’s with a cappuccino, waiting for her in the tent there to join me for lunch. I know you two don’t even know what a cappuccino is, but anyway – now look at me. Stuck here in this trench with you two, the fucking Chuckle Brothers. Bit of a difference, yeah?’
They looked at me as if I was stark staring mad. Well maybe I was.
‘And now she’s in that tent with someone else, not me, and I’m beginning to wonder if maybe she’ll be happier that way. He spends his whole time saving people’s lives and helping old ladies across the road, and I’m on stag behind a fucking gun. So what do you two think of that?’
They said bugger-all.
‘Exactly. And where the fuck is Standish?’
I glanced down the next time the moon appeared. My two new mates sat gazing at me, their chins resting on their knees.
‘Tell you what,’ I said, ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t go anywhere, will you?’ I gave them a manic smile, lifted the jerry-can on to the back-blast channel, picked up the AK and jumped out of the trench. I headed for the tents, taking the water with me.
I was greeted by the glow of the Tilley lamp as I went through the flaps. Tim was still on his cot, looking after the gunshot wound next to him.
There was no sign of Standish. The other casualty was lying on a blanket on the floor. It was too hot and clammy for his wounds to clot. Silky knelt by him, wiping his forehead and tending the punctures in his skin.
Tim looked up. ‘The one down there’s OK for now, but this one . . .’
The boy turned his face to me. ‘Mr Nick . . .’ I thought he tried to smile, which only made it worse for me.
‘You should get on the floor yourself, once the shooting starts again.’
Silky was still smiling. It was as if she actually liked this shit. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. How are you?’
‘Never better.’ I treated her to the same mad grin I’d given the Chuckle Brothers. ‘I just thought I’d bring this.’ I put the jerry-can on the floor. ‘The boy might need some.’
A loud yell filled the night, followed by a screamed warning. It was Bateman. Then there was a burst of fire.
‘Get down! Get down!’
I ran outside. A succession of yellow muzzle flashes speckled the darkness at the front of Bateman’s trench.
I could see a figure running up the track, in the direction of the new fall across the river. It didn’t take a genius to realize who it was.
And Bateman was keeping his word.
I ran over and jumped in next to him. I started to get the AK into my shoulder.
‘No man!’ He slapped his hand on the barrel and pushed it into the mud. ‘Better idea.’ He was so close his saliva pelted my face. ‘I’ll get him,’ he screamed. ‘He will fight. If not, I’ll kill him.’
The kids in Bateman’s trench cowered away from him, their bony hands over their ears.
Bateman turned and picked up his AK.
I held him back. ‘We can’t afford to lose another man.’
Crucial had opened fire on the body scrambling uphill. Bateman pulled away from me. ‘If I fuck this up, man, you kill that goddamn coward, no matter how long it takes. Do that for me.’
I nodded. He smiled, than ran towards the track, screaming to Crucial to hold his fire.
I watched Standish in the moonlight, maybe two hundred and fifty metres away now, scrambling up to the lip of the valley. Bateman wasn’t far behind him, going for it like a mountain goat on a promise.
A second later I saw muzzle flashes. But Bateman wasn’t returning fire. He wanted a capture.
Standish was just short of the lip, firing downhill. Then he lost his footing, tumbled and slid. He dropped his weapon and crashed into Bateman.
Bateman was on top, giving Standish the good news with his fists. Then he was dragging Standish further downhill by his leg. Standish struggled, but was losing ground. The fucker was going to fight alongside us whether he liked it or not.
The moon went behind a cloud.
When it next appeared, Bateman was on the ground. Standish was on top of him, a rock in his