Recoil - Andy McNab [74]
So far so good. No voices too close; no rustling of the leaf litter just the other side of the deadfall.
I breathed slowly and shallowly. Yin and Yang trembled, trying their hardest to hold it together. They screwed up their faces, eyes tight shut. Maybe they thought that if they couldn’t see they couldn’t be seen. Or maybe they were doing their best to block out what was happening because they couldn’t hack it.
Silky was curled up on the ground. Her eyes were wide open, but not to take in what was happening. They burned into mine.
Voices came from closer than the track – two, three guys muttering to each other. Following sign we had left?
I gripped the weapon to my chest, left hand on the stock, gently pulling up safety to the first click before easing my index finger into the trigger guard.
My head always switched off when these things happened. I didn’t know if it was the training, experience, or that I was just too thick to think anything but – I’m in the shit and I’m going to die soon, so everything else is a bonus.
One voice had got so close he could have been talking to me.
Less than two metres away and closing.
In a second or two he’d be able to see over the deadfall.
Fuck it.
I jumped up, weapon in the shoulder, and brought it into the aim, both eyes open.
As I bounced down again into a semi-squat to make use of the cover, I registered three bodies.
I squeezed the trigger at the blurred faces in front of me. The burst dropped the first guy at point-blank.
The other two were still shadows to my right as his blood splattered across my face.
They flapped and tried to get their weapons off the shoulder.
I swung mine up to drop them – and held fire.
One was a kid.
I pointed the weapon at the ground in front of them and blasted away a patch of leaf mould. The man ran and the kid froze, staring, shaking, his eyes huge with fear. He tried to lift his weapon. I cabbied off another burst at his feet and he got the message.
Down on the track, the rest of their gang went ballistic. Shouts, screams, crazy fire.
I swung round to Silky and the Chinese. ‘Run! Over the high ground! Run! Run!’
A few minutes ago Yin and Yang had been in the final stages of exhaustion. Now their feet sprouted wings.
I turned back and let the rest of the magazine rip towards the river, keeping their heads down that few seconds more so the others could make distance.
I couldn’t help myself. I had to check the body the other side of the deadfall.
Weapon still in the shoulder, I looked past the butt. His face had almost disappeared into a mush of bone and brain matter, but his undersized torso had the pot belly of a malnourished child.
I fired another quick burst, then turned and chased Silky’s back, changing mags on the run.
6
Half the guys behind us probably didn’t even know what they were firing at. They’d heard shots and loosed off blindly with some of their own. Good. The more confusion the better. And if we could get over the high ground we’d be out of their line of fire.
I caught up with the others and ran on ahead. I had to set the pace. I carried my weapon in my left hand, and held the other out behind me to grab hers. Yin and Yang could fend for themselves.
I could no longer hear rounds or screams, or anything but my own breathing. My legs were no longer heavy; I was moving like an Olympic runner.
The euphoria didn’t last long. There was a piercing scream immediately behind me.
Man down.
I turned to see Yin in the mud, his back arched, gulping for air. His legs flailed like he was trying to kick away an imaginary attack dog.
Yang stooped over him, trembling. Tears streamed down his fat little face as he screamed at his mate in Chinese. I hadn’t a clue what he was saying: I couldn’t tell whether he was telling him to get the fuck up and start running, or whether he was rattling off an order for takeaway.
Yin had taken two rounds, one in the shoulder, one in the back. There was a big exit wound in his chest. He was fighting