The New Patrol Read online

  ‘Not sure,’ said Liam. ‘Might have been nothing. Just want to be sure.’

  ‘What got you spooked then?’

  ‘It’s dead out there today,’ Liam said. ‘Haven’t seen a thing. No people, no animals. Then something just caught my eye. Didn’t look right. Gut instinct.’

  ‘Right,’ said Neil. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got then.’

  They both fell silent, focusing utterly on what Liam, in a strange way, hoped was something more interesting than a stray goat. Being shot at was no fun, but neither was playing the waiting game and watching animals stroll by as bored as they were. If someone was out there having a nosy, their day, even if only for a few minutes, would get considerably more interesting.

  ‘Got it,’ said Neil, not moving from his position.

  ‘What is it?’ Liam asked, having spotted a faint movement once again.

  ‘Could be a who rather than a what,’ said Neil. ‘Need to make sure. You still got eyes on?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Liam. ‘Can’t make it out, though. Whatever or whoever it is, it’s well hidden.’

  A bright glint of something catching sunlight for the briefest of moments shone out.

  Neil came back quick with, ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Liam, and all his senses were online now as he stared at a possible contact.

  ‘Unless there’s a goat out there with binos, then we might have ourselves a dicker,’ said Neil.

  A dicker was someone working as a forward observer for the Taliban, most probably for a mortar team hidden safely further back in dead ground so they didn’t get identified and blown up. Their job was to help the mortar team get their elevation right, reporting back to them on a mobile phone.

  ‘Get Miller,’ said Neil, but Liam was already on it. ‘If this bastard is about to start bracketing rounds, I’ll slot him, but I can’t engage without authorization if he’s just up there being a tourist and taking holiday snaps.’

  ‘You keep eyes on,’ said Liam and pulled away from the binos to shimmy down into the compound from the sangar. Miller was over with the ANA, along with Cowell, Clark and Lieutenant Steers.

  It was Cowell who stood and came over to meet him. ‘What is it, Scott? Something up?’

  ‘Not sure,’ said Liam. ‘Might have a dicker. GQ’s got eyes on just to make sure.’

  Miller and Steers walked over, clearly aware that something was up. Cowell explained what Liam had reported.

  ‘Is there evidence to support engaging?’ asked the lieutenant. ‘If it is a dicker for a mortar team, then under Card Alpha we have a strong case for self-defence.’

  Liam explained again what he and Neil had spotted. ‘Need authorization to engage, sir.’

  The lieutenant ordered Miller to put the men on alert, and to get them manning the walls, just in case something did kick off. As Miller did as ordered, the lieutenant turned back to Cowell and Liam.

  ‘Get up there and keep me informed. We need to be absolutely certain this is an imminent threat, and not some whacked-out shepherd. Understand?’

  Liam, with Cowell behind, raced back up into the sangar. ‘Anything, GQ?’

  ‘Fuck all,’ said Neil. ‘Whoever or whatever it is hasn’t budged.’

  ‘Could be nothing,’ said Cowell. ‘We need to be sure.’

  Neil cut Cowell off. ‘Got him!’

  Liam pinned himself to the binos. This time, the figure was clearly visible.

  ‘Bastard . . .’ muttered Neil.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Cowell.

  ‘He’s not armed,’ said Liam, answering for Neil. ‘And if he is spotting for a mortar team, I can’t bloody see them.’

  ‘They’ll be in safe ground,’ said Neil. ‘Don’t want us calling in an air strike and ending their fun and games.’

  Cowell swore under his breath. ‘If he’s not armed, we can’t engage,’ he said. ‘We need to link him to an actual threat. You sure there’s nothing?’

  ‘He’s got binos,’ said Neil. ‘And he doesn’t look like a fucking birdwatcher to me, boss, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Cowell. ‘We can’t risk it.’

  ‘What the fuck is the risk?’ asked Neil, irritation in his voice now. ‘The only reason any fucker out there is carrying binos is to cop a look-see at us. He’s spotting for someone – I know it and you know it. Either that or he’s gathering intelligence for a later attack.’

  Cowell was quiet, then said, ‘What’s the distance?’

  ‘Five hundred,’ said Liam.

  ‘What about a warning shot, Carter?’

  Neil raised his head from his sight. ‘You want me to part his hair or just make him dance?’

  ‘Sarcasm is fuck all use out here, Carter,’ said Cowell.

  ‘And neither is letting some dicker bastard walk free. It’s bollocks, boss.’

  Cowell didn’t budge. ‘I asked you a question, Carter,’ he said. ‘Under Card Alpha we can use it as a means of escalation. Might force their hand.’

  Neil was thoughtful for a moment, then with a slight nod sat back into the sight of his rifle, asking Liam to confirm the distance. For a few seconds, the sangar was silent. The only sounds Liam was aware of was the beat of his own heart, and that of Neil’s calm breathing.

  The shot rang out and Liam saw, almost instantaneously, a puff of dust kick up at the feet of the person with the binoculars. Neil chambered another round. At the same moment, the telltale dull thud of a mortar being fired punched the air.

  ‘Incoming!’ Cowell yelled.

  Anyone not on the wall made for cover and an explosion kicked up dust and grit over the back of the compound.

  ‘Missed us,’ said Neil.

  ‘Now you can have him,’ said Cowell.

  ‘What, not another warning shot? You positive?’

  Cowell’s stare was enough.

  Another thud and Liam knew another mortar round was incoming. It dropped well forward of the compound.

  ‘Next one will be dead on,’ said Cowell. ‘Take him now, Carter.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Neil.

  Liam watched Neil. He was calm, motionless, having already adjusted his sight for wind and whatever else a sniper thinks of when doing their job.

  The round punched home and the figure was knocked off his feet.

  ‘Shot,’ said Liam, but no sooner had the word left his mouth than he saw the dicker rise again.

  ‘Bastard must be wearing body armour,’ said Neil. ‘That was dead on centre of his chest.’

  For some reason, Liam hadn’t even considered that the Taliban would be wearing plates under their clothing.

  ‘Where did he get it?’

  ‘Black market,’ said Cowell. ‘Iran, hard to say. But they’re getting their hands on all kinds of kit now. It’s a fucking nightmare.’

  Neil chambered another round, but as he did so the dicker fell backwards and stumbled off.

  When he was gone, Neil said, ‘Should’ve taken him out with that first shot. Now there’s a chance this will come back and bite us on the arse.’

  ‘It was the only decision we could make,’ said Cowell. ‘And you know it. There was no link to a clear threat. Not until that mortar round came in.’

  ‘He was fucking Tally. We all knew it.’

  ‘I’m not saying I disagree,’ said Cowell. ‘I’m just saying we did it right. You slot some innocent farmer and you’ll be up for murder.’

  Neil said nothing.

  ‘Anyway, good shooting, Carter,’ said Cowell. ‘Whoever it was doesn’t know how fucking lucky they were to survive that.’

  As Cowell exited the sangar, Liam looked back over at Neil. ‘I’d put money on us getting no sleep tonight.’

  Neil didn’t answer. But for Liam, the steely look in his eyes was enough to tell him that he agreed.

  It was late evening and Liam was just getting his head down when a shout cracked the night.

  ‘Incoming! RPG! RPG!’

&nbs
p; A second later, a dull thud and a flash lit the dark as the shell piled into the reinforced outer wall of the compound.

  Grabbing his weapon, Liam raced to the walls as the sound of automatic gunfire detonated from the sangars. Whoever was up there was opening up with the GPMGs.

  ‘Scott!’ It was Clint, up on the roof of a room built into the wall. It was used to store food.

  Liam ran over and up a makeshift ladder to drop down next to his mate. ‘What have we got?’

  Muzzle flashes were lighting up the countryside like sparklers, and Liam could hear rounds buzzing past him like wasps. It was a sound that had scared him in the early days of his first tour.

  ‘A fight on our hands, that’s what,’ said Clint. ‘Come on! Move!’

  Up at the wall and on one knee, Liam returned fire, Clint alongside him doing the same.

  Something detonated about fifty metres out from where they were.

  ‘That was no RPG,’ said Liam.

  ‘No,’ said Clint. ‘Mortar.’

  ‘We were right, then.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That dicker that me and GQ spotted,’ said Liam. ‘The one Cowell had us send in a warning shot first.’

  Inside, he knew that he wasn’t being exactly fair. X-Factor had done things by the book. But sometimes, Liam knew full well, the best thing to do with the book was to empty a full magazine into it at point blank, and blast the thing to hell.

  Another explosion, closer this time.

  ‘Aim’s improving,’ said Clint.

  A bright flash from the sangar closest to Liam and Clint lit the compound.

  ‘Nice one,’ said Clint as the rocket from an LASW blasted off through the night. ‘Hope it’s accurate.’

  They both saw an explosion far off, which a moment later grew in violence.

  ‘Direct hit,’ said Liam. ‘Must’ve hit the ammo.’

  No sooner had he said that than a section of the wall between them and the sangar burst inwards, taking with it two soldiers. The hot air from the blast swept over them, carrying with it a deadly spray of disintegrating rubble. They turned away from it just in time, dropping down behind a section of wall; the stuff rained down about them, smashing and exploding on impact.

  Liam didn’t need to say anything to Clint. They were up on their feet and over to the damaged section in a flash. It was like a scene from the Blitz, with smoke and burned wood, piles of broken brick and stone, flames.

  ‘Over there!’ yelled Liam, pointing to just beyond where the wall had collapsed.

  It was Lance Corporal Clark. And he was a mess.

  Liam dropped to Clark’s side. His mind flashed back to what had happened to his friend Cameron during his last tour, but he pushed the memory away. This wasn’t the time or the place.

  Clark was unconscious, a wound on his head bleeding red lines across his face, which was ghost white with dust. Whatever else was wrong with him, Liam couldn’t at the moment be sure, but the lance corporal’s left leg was badly twisted and Liam was pretty sure it was broken. The big Fijian probably had internal injuries too, from the impact of the mortar round.

  ‘Medic!’ Nicky dropped down at Liam’s side, Cowell with her. ‘We need medevac immediately,’ she said, getting to work straight away on sorting Clark out. ‘I can stabilize as best as I can, but that’s about it.’

  ‘I’ll call it in,’ said Cowell. ‘Scott! Eastwood!’

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘See that big hole in the wall?’

  Liam nodded. How could they not?

  ‘Don’t let any fuckers get to thinking that’s a new door, understand me?’

  15

  It was way past midnight, the dark now giving way to a grey early light the colour of cement. The firefight had died down considerably, with the cover of darkness now on the wane, but it hadn’t stopped completely.

  A flare, shot up from inside the compound, cracked the sky, lighting up the rough land in front of Liam. And in the odd and eerie flickering light that crept across the desert and scrub like a lost spectre, he was staring hard to get eyes on anything moving towards them. He hadn’t seen anything for a while, but they were all still up and ready. It wasn’t time to call it a day, not yet.

  ‘Might have to cut my eyelids out in a minute,’ said Clint, at Liam’s side. ‘I’m in serious need of caffeine.’

  Following Cowell’s order, Liam and Clint had managed to repel all attacks on the hole in the compound wall. They had been joined by a number of ANA soldiers too, including Zaman, and they were both impressed with the way the ANA fought, with ferocious professionalism, their M16s used with deadly accuracy.

  Liam rubbed his eyes, blinked hard, told himself he was still awake, didn’t need any sleep, not ever.

  Movement, far off, but approaching.

  ‘You see that?’ Liam asked.

  ‘What?’

  Liam directed Clint to where he was looking.

  ‘Can’t see anything,’ said Clint, staring down his ACOG. ‘But in this light it’s difficult.’

  Liam was sure he’d seen something, kept staring. There it was again! ‘You sure you can’t see that?’

  ‘I’ll keep looking,’ said Clint. ‘I’ll tell you when I do.’

  Liam kept his eyes focused on where he’d seen the movement. If it was an animal, it was a big one, and moving towards them slowly, crawling almost.

  Zaman drew close. ‘What do you see, Scott?’

  ‘Not sure,’ he said. ‘Eastwood can’t see it, but I’m sure I saw something moving, crawling towards us. It’s way out, though. I might be just tired.’

  Then something was clearly visible and this time Clint saw it too. ‘There we are,’ he said. ‘You were right, mate.’

  Liam said, ‘What is it? Taliban? He’s not moving.’

  Clint wasn’t sure, said so.

  Liam had an idea and turned to Zaman. ‘Look, Shah, you know the Taliban better than any of us. Reckon you could spot one at nearly three hundred metres?’

  Zaman nodded. ‘Of course. It would be easy.’

  Without a second thought, Liam handed Zaman his rifle. Like Clint’s, it was fitted with the ACOG, which it had become very clear was the preferred sight for most soldiers out in theatre. ‘Use my weapon,’ he said. ‘Your weapon’s accurate, but you’ve only got iron sights. You’ll have a better idea with this.’

  Zaman took the SA80 and brought it up into his shoulder. ‘Where, Scott? Tell me.’

  Liam explained and Zaman moved the weapon until he was dead on.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I see him now.’

  Liam hesitated, then said, ‘Well? What is it? What are they doing?’

  Zaman kept the weapon raised. ‘I am sure it is Taliban,’ he said. ‘He is not moving. But he is holding something. A weapon. I am certain of it.’

  Liam automatically went through the six-step targeting process in his mind. He took the weapon back from Zaman. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and got himself into a stable position. Over the PRR he called in to Miller. ‘Sarge, I’ve eyes on a confirmed contact.’

  ‘Clarify,’ Miller replied.

  ‘Taliban, two hundred and fifty out, armed.’

  ‘Positive ID?’

  ‘Shah has confirmed also,’ said Liam. ‘Could be a sniper.’

  The sergeant went quiet, but was back on line in seconds. ‘You have permission to engage, Scott. Keep me and the lieutenant informed.’

  ‘Boss,’ acknowledged Liam, then said to Clint, ‘Mate, confirm distance.’

  ‘Two-fifty, hasn’t moved,’ said Clint. ‘And that’s definitely a weapon. Shah was right.’

  Liam said nothing, settling into the stock of his rifle. The air was dead, no movement. This would be a straight shot. But it was different to a usual firefight. He wasn’t hammering rounds into a number of enemy combatants. This time, it was just one and he was being calculated about it, step-by-step.

  A shot rang out, but not from Liam. The round thumped home into the brickw
ork below them.

  ‘Muzzle flash!’ Liam hissed.

  ‘Take the shot,’ said Clint. ‘That first was to get his eye in, check the range for his weapon. He won’t miss next time.’ He turned to the ANA soldiers. ‘Heads down! Now!’

  Liam was alone. He held his breath for a couple of seconds, placed his finger on the trigger, breathed out.

  Paused . . .

  Squeezed the trigger.

  The crack of the round leaving Liam’s weapon was immediately met by the thud of it hitting its intended target.

  Liam immediately followed the shot with another.

  ‘Scott? Kill confirmed?’ Miller on the PRR.

  Liam called for Clint. They both stared down their ACOGs. No movement. The body was still.

  ‘Target dropped,’ said Liam.

  A hand rested on his shoulder. It was Zaman. ‘That was well done,’ he said. ‘And you trusted me with your own weapon.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  Zaman said nothing more. Just smiled warmly and gave a nod.

  After Liam had taken out the sniper, the Taliban clearly lost the will to fight and backed off. Morning came and everyone was exhausted. But there was no time for resting up.

  ‘Scott?’

  Liam was with Clint and Ade helping some ANA soldiers assess and repair the damage to the wall. It was clear that the whole compound needed reinforcing, but other than adding sandbags, there was little they could do. It would be a patch-up job, which wasn’t very reassuring.

  Liam turned at his name as Cowell came over.

  ‘Got a minute?’

  He followed the corporal.

  ‘Clark was medevac’d back to Camp Bastion,’ said Cowell. ‘He’s doing fine considering, but he’s out of action. They’re shipping him home.’

  Liam was gutted for Clark. He was a good NCO. Didn’t shout much, just did the job, was trusted, and also was happy to have a laugh. A good soldier.

  ‘This means,’ said Cowell, ‘that we’re a man down when it comes to responsibility. I need someone to fill Clark’s role immediately. And that someone, Scott, is you.’

  Liam’s mouth dropped open. The way Cowell had spoken, it was almost as though he had sounded out a challenge.

  ‘Catching flies won’t help,’ he went on, not giving Liam a chance to respond. ‘I’m not making you up to lance corporal. This is not a field promotion, understand?’