Recoil - Andy McNab [121]
I picked up the head of a round and placed the two firing-cable wires along it so that they were less than a millimetre apart at the pointed top. I started peeling back the roll with my teeth, then taped the two wires in place. I nestled the round gently among the cordite granules in the untied glove.
I wrapped the cable tight round the wrist of the glove, then lashed it with tape to make it as waterproof as I could, then laid both gloves on top of the crate, picked up my AK and left.
I’d say my goodbyes later on.
PART ELEVEN
1
I gave the firing cable a few feet of slack from where it disappeared into the glove, then a couple of turns round my left wrist to prevent it jerking loose, grabbed the plunger, then legged it to Sam’s trench. ‘Here, control this fucking thing.’ I dumped the firing device with the cable still attached. ‘Back soon.’
I opted for the direct route, a straight line downhill. I could just see the valley floor as a thin arc of dull light appeared above the treeline in the distance.
I skidded and slid, then fell on my arse and sledged the rest of the way, mud building up fast between my legs. I banged into a rock and fell sideways, but managed to hang on to the AK and the cable, keeping the crate top and gloves tight against my chest.
I staggered to the full oil drum and leaned against it for a few moments, fighting for breath. There was no time to hang around. I didn’t want to be caught out in the open once the sun was up.
I dumped the gloves on the crate top and floated it on the surface of the diesel, then unravelled the cable and ran to the store.
No glimmers of light in here. It was still pitch black.
I switched on the torch and scanned the floor frantically for slabs of PE. I found two. That was all I needed. Plastic explosive burns. I’d often used half a stick to light a fire, or heat water or food in a mess tin. It’s only dangerous if burned in quantities of more than twenty kilos. Then it generates enough heat to detonate.
Back at the drum, I sandwiched the gloves between the two slabs of PE, then secured the firing cable at the base of the drum with a rock.
When I pushed the plunger handle down, the spark from the cable wires would ignite the cordite in the gloves. It would burn like mad for five or six seconds then ignite the HE, which would burn furiously at a very high temperature, incinerating the crate top and igniting the diesel.
The resulting beacon would burn and belch smoke for hours.
2
The band of dull light thickened on the horizon ahead of us. It wouldn’t be long before the sun began to turn the eastern sky blue and work its way towards us.
All three guns were loaded and ready to go, the spare in the middle. If either of us had a stoppage, we could still keep the rounds going. When the barrel of the malfunctioning gun had cooled, we could deal with it.
Muzzle flashes sparked up on both sides of the valley entrance. No longer drowned by last night’s storm, the sound of their wild bursts of auto echoed around the hillside.
Sam got his gun into the shoulder. ‘Here we go.’
Whether he was speaking to me or himself, I had no idea.
They were probing us, trying to get us to return fire and give away our positions in the first-light gloom.
We held back and watched as the eight or so flashes inched slowly but surely into our killing ground.
Four hundred metres away, and closing.
They moved, fired, and moved again, deeper into the valley. I began to see movement along with the flashes, then shapes became more distinct. Nearly every one was small.
They kept firing, kept looking for that response. Rounds from an uncontrolled burst thudded into the ground in front of us. I gave Sam a glance. He shook his head. We’d keep our position covert until we absolutely had to go noisy. Sam would give the order; it was his call.
3
Butt in the shoulder. Both eyes open. Finger on the trigger. Just now and again, even though I knew there was no fucking need, I moved my left hand to check the rounds were OK, the