Recoil - Andy McNab [119]
‘Shot him down, then did a runner.’
His voice vibrated with anger. ‘He’s just told me you’re all dead.’
‘Well, you can hear me talking, mate.’
‘I was coming in to kill you all at first light, then . . . He’s killing his own fucking people!’
‘Lex, we need you to give us fire support with those twenty-three-millimetres of yours, soon as you can. What’s left of the LRA are going to hit us again, most probably at first light.’
‘Who’s paying for the fuel and ammunition now?’
‘For fuck’s sake! I will. Or have another game of crazy golf with Sam. Whatever, are you going to come or not?’
‘I’ll be there. I’ll need a marker to get me on line and for fire control.’
‘Done. I’ll give the fire-control orders when you’re overhead.’
Lex sounded very calm now, the sort of calm that’s one step away from dangerous. ‘I’m going to call that fucking shit right now and tell him he can rot in the jungle. You never desert men in the field.’
‘Mate, do you use caller ID?’
‘Of course not, man.’
‘So he’ll answer when I call?’
There was a short silence, then he started to laugh.
Standish answered within one and a half rings. ‘Get straight in there and rake the area. Kill those fuckers who killed the team.’
I took a breath. ‘Don’t worry, he’s going to – but I don’t think he’ll be picking you up. In fact, he wants you to rot in the jungle, you fucking shit. And the only reason I’m hoping you don’t is that I want to give you a little something from Bateman.’
The phone went dead.
11
I rolled the Prudence over the sat phone again. ‘Silky, got any surgical gloves?’
‘None sterile, only discarded.’ She pointed at a small heap of bloodstained swabs and latex.
‘I’ll be back for them in a minute.’
I left the tent. The kids were lined up in four lots of two, all facing down the valley. One of each pair stood trembling next to an RPG launcher; his equally scared number two cradled a round. Crucial screamed down at them, pushing a couple on to their arses to hammer home a point. His voice was choked, but it had nothing to do with him being hoarse from all the shouting.
Sam was still on stag, his face like granite.
‘You all right, mate?’
‘Just tell me what’s happened.’
‘I got Lex.’ I cut all the Crazy Dave shit; it did-n’t matter. ‘He’s just over two and a half hours away.’ I didn’t cut the Standish shit; he needed to know. ‘I told him if I see him again, I’m going to kill him. And this time I want to see him again.’
‘You might need to join a queue.’
‘I’m going to make a marker down there. Hold on to this.’ I handed him the sat phone. ‘If I’m not back, Lex is expecting fire control orders.’
Sam checked the watch round his neck. ‘We’re cutting it fine. First light’s just before six.’
I picked up four belts of link and dumped them inside the tent. ‘I need you to take off all the bullet heads. Bend them sideways on something hard until they come out. Empty all the propellant into two of those gloves.’ I didn’t give Silky and Tim a chance to ask why. I needed to get to Crucial.
He had the four skinny, pot-bellied teams doing loading drills. Sunday was nearest me, and number one on his launcher. He held it upright so his number two could put the stabilizer pipe down the weapon, making sure the percussion cap was aligned with the hammer.
These kids were coming to life, but not in a good way. Crucial was really playing the part, being aggressive, throwing the switch that turned them back into automatons.
Sunday struggled to get the weapon on to his right shoulder. He didn’t hold it the way I was used to, left hand on the rear grip. He used his right, and had his left on the trigger. The other little one stood immediately behind him so the launcher rested on his shoulder too. He brought his right arm, skinny as a stick, round to Sunday’s front, and the other one went to his left shoulder in an effort to make a stable platform. Even loaded, these launchers weighed less than a GPMG and 200 link, but to these fuckers it probably felt like a ton.
Crucial wiped a sleeve across his face. He wanted