Firefight (18 page)

Immediately they went to work on their hands and knees,
shifting armfuls of snow out of the way so that the vehicle
could move freely. Now that he had stopped running and
without his snow suit, Will started to feel the cold all the
more; his hands and feet were numb and he put more
energy into digging to try and keep warm.

Soon they had dug the car out. Drew handed his
Kalashnikov to Will, then took the wheel once more.
Kennedy sat beside him in the front, his own gun pointing
out of the passenger window back the way they'd come.
Drew turned the ignition and their ears were filled with
the thin, reedy sound of the engine trying, unsuccessfully,
to turn over.

No one spoke. Drew tried again; again the engine coughed
and spluttered before dissolving away into nothing. 'Battery
must be cold,' he muttered. 'It's below freezing out there.'

'Well you'd better get it moving, quickly,' Kennedy said,
his voice suddenly tense, even a little high-pitched. 'X-rays
approaching.'

Will turned his head quickly. Sure enough, in the distance,
highlighted by the silvery light of the moon, he could just
make out figures coming towards them. Impossible to tell
how many. But enough. A hundred metres away - and
counting.

'How long till we get started?' he asked Drew, tersely.

'Impossible to say,' Drew replied. 'Could be a few minutes.'

Even before Drew had finished talking, Will was opening
up the weapons stash. The Minimi 5.56 mm light machine
gun was there waiting for him. 'Cover me while I set it
up,' he told Kennedy.

Kennedy nodded. 'I'm counting about twenty of the
fuckers!' he shouted. As Will pulled an ammunition belt out
of the weapons stash, he started firing single shots from his
Kalashnikov. It wouldn't be enough to overcome the number
of enemy that were approaching, but it would slow them
down and give Will time to set up the machine gun.
Clutching the weaponry, he jumped down from the back
of the truck and crawled along the ground, while Kennedy
continued to fire off an occasional shot from his AK.

There was a trench on the side of the road. Will rolled
into it, then opened up the V-shaped bipod at the end of
the gun's barrel before feeding the small ammo belt into
the chamber.

Behind him, the truck's engine coughed, them fell silent
again.

Will heaved the machine gun over the edge of the trench.

It sank slightly in the snow, but he could feel the bipod
hitting firm ground. His eyes squinted involuntarily as he
aimed the weapon in the direction of the enemy. And then
he fired.

The harsh chugging of the weaponry filled the air and
the gun shook as the ammo belt rattled through it. A spray
of gunfire showered into the approaching enemy and Will
watched with satisfaction as about half of them fell to the
ground like grass bending in the wind.

But that still left at least ten and they were approaching
relentlessly.

He held fire. Behind him, the engine of the truck had
roared into life. Drew was expertly massaging the throttle
to warm the engine without letting it stall and Will heard
Kennedy shouting at him. '
Get back in the truck! I'll cover
you!
' A shot from the Kalashnikov rang through the air.

Will pulled the machine gun towards him and crawled
back to the truck. As soon as he climbed into the vehicle,
he felt it lurch backwards as Drew reversed around in a
tight turning circle, so that they were pointing the right
way again. 'It's like a fucking zombie movie out there!'
Kennedy yelled. The snow chains crunched noisily into the
powder, but they did their job well. The truck held to the
road and in an instant they were moving.

But there was still gunfire and it wasn't coming from
Kennedy, who was facing the wrong side of the road
now. With a roar, Will smashed the butt of the machine
gun through one of the windows at the back of the
truck, then turned the weapon around and started firing
indiscriminately in the direction of the not-yet-dead
enemy.

Latifa shrank back; she might even have screamed, Will
wasn't sure. His whole body shook with the force of the
weapon as, in this last, desperate burst of gunfire, he struggled
to make sure that they were not scuppered by a stray
enemy bullet bursting into one of their tyres - or one of
their heads.

Whether he hit anyone he didn't know; but eventually,
Drew turned a corner and they found themselves out of
the range of the enemy.

Will eased his finger off the trigger, silencing the noise
of gunfire. He was breathing heavily, panting almost. They
all were - even Latifa, whose face was an undisguised picture
of stress and panic.

The truck trundled along, as fast as Drew could safely
make it travel. Back on the road - they hoped - to some
kind of safety.

'We should cuff her.'

Kennedy was glancing over his shoulder at Latifa, who
sat huddled in the back, opposite Will. Her body was shaking
and Will worried that she was too frail to make it to
Kandahar. He put that thought from his mind: the woman
was no good to him dead. Slowly she glanced at the SAS
man in the passenger seat and looked silently at Kennedy
for a full ten seconds before speaking. 'Where is it you think
that I am wanting to escape to?' she asked in faltering
English.

'I don't know and I don't care,' Kennedy replied, brutally.
'But we've already made the mistake of trusting a stranger
once today and we're coming back one man down.' He
threw a set of Plasticuffs to Will, who caught them in one
hand.

Latifa turned her attention to him. It was only now that
Will took in her features, though he was aware that she
must have looked a lot different before the Taliban got their
hands on her. Her skin was dark, of course, and she had
long black hair, matted and greasy, that seemed to cling to
the side of her face. She might have been pretty once, but
any prettiness had long been beaten out of her.

And she stank. Jesus, she stank. A fetid, pungent smell that
filled the whole car.

'You think I wish to return to those animals?' she asked.
There was no anger in her voice; she just sounded slightly
bemused. Thinking back to the horrific state in which he
had found her and the sight of the wounds on her feet,
Will didn't blame her.

'No,' he said, gruffly. 'I don't think you'll be going back
to them. But I don't know for sure that you'll want to stay
with us.' He grabbed her wrists a little more roughly than
he intended to, then strapped the Plasticuffs around them.

Latifa accepted being bound without a struggle. It was
almost as if this were part of the natural order of things.
'Do you know my brother?' she asked.

Will looked sharply at her. She was gazing directly at
him.

The truck trundled over an especially uneven bit of road.
He waited for it to level out before he answered.

'No,' he said, doing his best to keep his voice level. 'But
I know of him.'

'You said he sent you to rescue me.'

Will could feel Kennedy's gaze on him, but he ignored
it. 'Something like that,' he told Latifa evasively.

'Ah,' Latifa nodded. 'Something like that.' She smiled sadly,
then looked out of the back of the truck. Somehow, Will
could tell that she knew he was lying.

He changed the subject. 'We'll get you medical help when
we reach our destination.'

'And where is our destination?' Latifa asked, softly. Her
voice had a sing-song quality; close your eyes, Will thought,
and you wouldn't know the pain she was in.

'You'll find out.'

She turned to look at him again and Will found her
piercing eyes made him feel quite uncomfortable. 'Yes,' she
said. 'I will find out.' And then, almost to herself, 'We all
find out our destination, sooner or later.'

The journey back to Kandahar air base was an uncomfortable
one. The air was bitingly cold and now that some
of the adrenaline that had been pumping through him had
subsided, Will's body began to ache from the beating
their Taliban captors had given them. All the way along their
bumpy route back, he clutched the Minimi firmly. It seemed
large and ungainly in the enclosed space of the truck, and
the cold metal bit harshly into the chapped skin on his
hands. But he didn't let go. He wanted to be prepared for
any ambushes like the one they had encountered on the
way. They'd had the element of surprise back then; now,
though, with the back door of the truck blown away, the
glass smashed in and the occupants all looking like they'd
gone a few rounds with a grizzly, they would alert the attention
of anyone they passed.

But they met no one, other than the frozen corpses of
the men who had tried to attack them on the way in. They
looked a lot less dangerous with their brains spread out
around them, a dusting of white snow over their dark skin.
Seeing their dead bodies lying there, however, Will could
not help thinking of Anderson. He didn't want to imagine
what the Taliban had done to his body. The chances of it
having been buried with respect were slim. Will glanced
over at Drew and Kennedy. Somehow, from their heavy
silence, he knew they were having similar thoughts.

Will was roused from his reverie by a shout. It was Latifa.
A change seemed to have come over her. There was a blankness
in her face that he had not noticed the last time he
looked and a low groan was escaping her lips. She started
talking in Pashto, her voice guttural and anguished. She
raised her bound fists as though trying to brush something
away, then cried out again. Jesus, she looked half-dead. More
than half. He had to stop himself from telling Drew to
drive faster, but he knew that the woman didn't have a lot
of time left. If they didn't get to a medic soon, she'd be a
goner.

'Delirious,' Kennedy observed from his seat in the front.

Will touched his hand to her forehead. 'She's burning up.
It's hardly surprising - they fucked her up pretty badly back
there. Her feet are a mess.'

'Well it's still a good couple of hours back to the base.
I hope she makes it - if septicaemia sets in out here, she's
a goner.'

Will's eyes narrowed. For some reason caring for this
woman went against every urge in his body, but he knew
what he had to do. He lay the Minimi down beside him,
then leaned over Latifa, hoping to persuade her to lie down
on the floor of the truck. But as soon as he touched her,
she started writhing and screaming - a long, desperate scream
that ended with a single word.

'
Faisal!
'

And then, as if woken from a dream, she seemed to see
Will. She looked around her, as though seeing her surroundings
for the first time.

'Where are we?' she asked.

The utterance of Faisal Ahmed's name on this woman's
lips had shocked Will and it was a moment before he
answered.

'We're on our way to Kandahar Airport,' he told her
gruffly. Then, moved by the fear that was still etched on
her face, he added,' You're safe. We're going to get you some
medical treatment. Do you think you can make it?'

Latifa took a deep breath and nodded her head, resolutely.
Then she closed her eyes and allowed her body to shake
in rhythm with the jerky movements of the truck.

The sky grew imperceptibly lighter as the sun began to
rise over southern Afghanistan. A new sun for a new day.
Better than the last, Will hoped.

Gradually the road became busier. As the risk of roadside
attacks declined, Will found himself becoming more
worried about Latifa. That blank look in her face had
returned. Occasionally she would gaze around her as if she
had no idea where she was; now and then she would shout
out, though more weakly than before, but Will felt useless
to do anything. They needed to get to the airbase, and
fast. He felt a huge sense of relief when they started to
approach it.

It was strangely comforting to see the bleak, sprawling
mass of concrete ahead of them, to sense the bustle of
activity as they drove in. And Will found himself somehow
soothed by the mechanical drone of a plane overhead.

'Nothing like coming in under the radar,' Kennedy said,
sarcastically. Will looked around him: the sight of their
battered truck was attracting curious attention from many
of the troops of different nationalities they passed.

'Half these guys probably never even leave the base,' Drew
grunted from behind the wheel. Tiredness showed in his
voice and Will wasn't surprised. On top of everything else,
it had been a long, difficult drive.

They pulled up outside the hangar where they had
prepared themselves the previous day and started to unload
what remained of their weaponry, so that they would be
able to get Latifa out of the back. As they were doing so,
the Junior Technician who had helped them yesterday -
Evans, did he say his name was? - approached. He had a
slightly awed expression on his face as he looked at the
state of the men and their vehicle. 'Do you need anything,
sir?' he asked quietly.

Will looked at the kid with a sense of irritation that he
quickly checked. He was only doing his job. 'Tell Rankin
I need to see him now,' he replied, gruffly.

Evans nodded, then disappeared to deliver the message.

Once the weaponry was unloaded, Will turned his attention
to Latifa. Her face was sweating and for a dark-skinned
woman she was alarmingly pale. Her eyes seemed to roll
in her head.

'Latifa,' he called.

She didn't seem to hear him.

'
Latifa
!' More forcefully this time.

She turned her head and gazed at him. It was impossible
to tell whether she was taking in anything he was saying.

'You need to get down,' he told her. 'Can you do that?
Can you walk?'

For a moment there was no response, but then, excruciatingly
slowly, Latifa started to push herself towards the back
of the truck. Painfully, she manoeuvred herself into position,
then climbed down on to the slush-covered tarmac.
She winced as her wounded feet touched the floor and an
expression of agony flashed across her face; but then she
took a couple of difficult steps towards the hangar.

'Here,' Will said gruffly, unable to watch this woman's
discomfort, no matter who she was. 'I'll carry you.'

Latifa's face winced again, as if she were unwilling to
accept such a humiliating offer of help. But she was too
weak to turn it down, so Will lifted her light, bony body
and carried her inside. Even through the thick snowsuit,
he could tell that she was burning hot and he could feel
her limbs trembling.

The area of the hangar that they had been allocated was
sparse, but there was one chair that was a little larger and
more comfortable than the others scattered around. Will
placed Latifa in it. 'Take the snowsuit off,' he instructed.

'Easy, tiger,' Kennedy murmured.

'Shut up, Kennedy,' Will told him, before turning back
to Latifa. 'Get it off, now,' he repeated. 'I'm not messing
about.'

Latifa's eyes rolled again as, weakly, she held up her thin
wrists, still bound together by the Plasticuffs. Will nodded,
then searched around the room until he found something
suitable to release them - a pair of sharp scissors made short
work of the plastic bands. 'Just don't do anything stupid.'

Latifa's head lolled, but she managed to curl her upper
lip into an expression of contempt. 'I am in the middle of
a military base and I cannot walk,' she croaked. 'I hardly
think that I am a match for you brave men with your guns.'

She started to undress.

It should have been easy for her to wriggle her thin body
out of the snowsuit intended for Will's larger frame, but she
was weak and it took her a long time. It was only once
she had removed it that Will was reminded of how badly
she stank and now that she was in the light, he could see
how ragged and dirty her robes were.

But it was her feet he was most concerned about. Out
in the field, there had been nothing they could do, but now
they were back at the airbase it was essential that she received
some kind of medical attention. The wounds were bad and
it looked to Will as if they were infected. If they turned
septic, she could die and the whole mission would have
been for nothing.

He got to his knees and gently took her right foot in
his hand.

'Jesus,' he heard Kennedy whisper from behind him.

Latifa's feet were disgusting. They were swollen and
puffy - perhaps twice their usual size - but it was not
this that made them such an alarming sight. They were
covered in enormous welts and scars which oozed a
mixture of viscous white liquid and barely coagulating
blood - as though her feet were weeping some vile, putrid
poison.

'She needs a medic,' Will murmured. 'An antibiotic jab
at the very least and something to get her fever down.
Otherwise she'll be away with the fairies when we get
back, if she even makes it.' As he spoke, Junior Technician
Evans reappeared. 'Well?' he asked him curtly. 'Is Rankin
ready for me?'

The young soldier seemed nervous. 'No, sir,' he said,
meekly. 'He asked me to tell you that he may have time
later in the day.'

Will exhaled heavily. 'Wait here,' he told the other two
SAS men. 'Make sure she doesn't move.'

'Fat fucking chance,' Kennedy murmured as Will stormed
out of the hangar.

He didn't bother with the truck; he just strode straight
across the airbase in the direction of Rankin's Portakabin.
For some reason it filled him with fury that he had to ask
for help from this jumped-up pen-pusher; but if help was
going to be given, it was damn well going to be given on
Will's terms. Bollocks to rank and etiquette - Will was no
longer army, so the usual rules didn't apply.

He didn't bother to knock and burst in through the door.
There were two young RAF officers in there, standing in
front of Rankin's table, apparently receiving a dressing-down.
Rankin stopped in mid-flow the moment he saw Will enter.
'You'll have to wait outside,' he bellowed, clearly not recognising
Will even from yesterday.

Will strode quietly into the room. 'Get out,' he said,
cursorily, to the two men standing at Rankin's desk.

The men glanced at Rankin a bit nervously. He was
fuming. But as he looked at Will, his eyes narrowed with
sudden recognition as he twigged who he was. He nodded
at the two men and they hurried out.

'How dare you come barging in here -' Rankin started
to say, but Will interrupted him.

'I need a medic and I need us on the first plane out of
here to Brize Norton.'

Rankin shook his head and smiled a patronising smile,
as if Will's request was quite impossible. 'You seem to
think you can just swan in here and command all our
resources -' he blustered, but Will had no patience for any
of this. He strode round to Rankin's side of the desk,
grabbed him by the neck and pulled him to his feet.
Rankin's comfortable chair toppled over as Will pulled the
man's face towards his.