Immediate Action (62 page)

    In my mind's eye I pictured Rod and Tony, each with his patrol behind.

    They weren't wearing belt kit; all each had was their rifle, pistol, and ammunition. On their rifles some had mounted a Maglite torch with masking tape around the stock and, between the Maglite and the stock, a little wedge of wood to keep it at the right angle. The Maglite would provide a crude form of zeroing as they went through the door. It was first light; it was going to be dark inside the buildingsAnd with the explosive charge going off there would be clouds of dust and debris; the Maglites might be needed to penetrate it.

    The second man in each group would be carrying an explosive charge. I imagined the commander pointing where he wanted the charges to be put.

    Everybody else would be covering the windows and the general area, pressed right up flat against the door itself. All it would take was a small dab of P.E with det cord running through it onto a clacker-the same as used on the claymore. At the end of the wire of the clacker there was a detonator, which was clipped on to the det cord. Once the explosive was in position, the figures would move back a couple of feet and turn their backs. The commander held the clacker.

    Whoever was doing the firing would have to hold the wire, keep the connector in to the clacker, and squeeze it-or put the wire in and give it a good dose of masking tape. Whatever, but he had to make sure he got that good connection, because it had to go first time.

    I imagined the two loud thuds, doors caving in, and the boys disappearing inside.

    We got to our area, on the side nearest the processing hut. As I looked forward, I could see no change, except that the ground was wet with a thin film of mud. The trike was missing, but the cardboard box that had contained the tins of condensed milk was still there. The cans had gone.

    It was more or less full light now. Within the hole in the canopy I could see it was a beautifully clear day, a deep blue sky without a cloud. It was going to be really hot. Soon the mud would start steaming.

    It was quiet; none of the generators was running. As I panned from right to left, I could see the cook's hut and beyond it the roof of the other one. I knew the assault groups would be lining up on the edge of the canopy, ready to come forward to place the charges. I knew everything was all right; I knew we could cover.

    I said quietly, "Here we are going to cover. El Nino, keep your eyes on that building going left towards that track. Understand?"

    Everybody nodded. El Nino knelt down, his weapon in the aim.

    To the others I said, "I want you, Rodriiguez, to watch from that building to there. If there's shooting, shoot back.

    One-of-three-Joses and Gonz, I want you to look for anybody running up towards the heli-" BANG!

    What the fuck was that? When you hear a gunshot totally out of the blue, the whole body jerks. As I turned around, I saw Nino looking like a puppy that knows it shouldn't have pissed on the kitchen floor. He started gabbing off: "It fired! It fired!" As he took the safety catch off, he must have had his finger on the trigger and had an ND (negligent discharge).

    My mind screamed: Fuck! as I went straight on the net and shouted: "Go!

    Go! Go! Go! Go!"

    To El Nino, I motioned with my thumb to put his safety catch on.

    It had been initiated now. It was. pointless staying there."I waved them on, and we moved toward our target. "Go! Go! Come on!" I knew we were heading for a total and utter gang.fuck.

    It wasn't slippery underfoot, but I found it difficult to get my footing in the slime. I was expecting to hear the explosions or gunfire. just as we approached the hut, there was some automatic fire and single shots coming from the area of the huts. I wasn't bothered, I kept going forward. My eyes were focused on the building and who might be coming out of it.

    I got there first, followed by Rodriguez. "in, in, in!" I said.

    He hesitated, not understanding what I wanted.

    I pointed at him, then at me, and I went in.

    There were long tables with trays stretching to the far end.

    Butts in the shoulders, we moved down either side.

    I was shouting at Rodriguez. He was shouting in Spanish: "Stand still!

    Police! Police!"

    To the far right I heard Rod shout: "Move up! Move up!"

    The firing had stopped now; there was just yelling and shouting and the sound of metal falling and furniture being overturned.

    There was something coming on, the radio, but I couldn't understand what it was.

    In the semilight inside I saw large, oil drum-type barrels, empty packets of cigarettes, beer cans lying on their side.

    I was hoping the other three were outside and covering our arses.

    All I wanted to do was get to the other end of the hut and get out.

    I heard more shouting, then gunfire. Fuck! As I looked around in a semistoop, I saw a figure running down the path toward the Generators.

    Then there was more gunfire.

    I knew it was Nino, Gonz, and One-of-three-Joses firing, but the boy kept running. I knew the cutoffs would take him down.

    I shouted at Gonz and the others to go to the storeroom. They ran up to it, but there was no way they were going straight in. They shouted and kicked against the wood. They worked their way to the door, gingerly opened it, and took a tentative peep.

    "Get in there!" I shouted. "In, in, in!"

    They crept inside and reappeared two seconds later. It was full of barrels; there were no people.

    To the right there was shouting, but I ignored it. "Helipad!

    Helipad!" I shouted, chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

    I had a pain in my throat from all the shouting and running around. I told Nino and Gonz to stay where they were; Rodriguez and One-of-three-Joses were to come with me.

    We ran across and started- going up the track. There wasn't time to get them to cover each other; we just ran as fast as we could toward the helipad.

    I was flapping and breathing hard, my face drenched with sweat.

    This time I was checking behind me as I ran, to make sure the other two were with me. As we hit the rise, we could see the opening of the helipad itself. I could now feel the heat on my back.

    I was going to run around the edge of it to make sure everything was clear. There was no time to tell them; I just hoped that they would be there.

    We started to move around the line of the pad, just waiting for someone to run or fire. I couldn't care less either way, I just wanted to get this over with and recover something from the shambles. The area was - clear.

    The sun was burning the mud; the floor was covered with mist, like ankle-deep theatrical smoke on a stage.

    Standing on the edge of the helipad, I heard screaming from somewhere down near the living accommodation.

    I got on the net and said, "Rod, check? Rod, check?"

    Nothing. Then, "Send! Send!"

    "We're up on the helipad-that's clear. I'm now coming down."

    "Roger that. We've got a man down. Get down here, we need help.

    Out."

    That explained the screaming. Having a man down made me seethe even more about Nino having an ND.

    He'd fucked everything up; blokes were getting hit, and the chances were people were getting away.

    We got down to find total chaos. Rod was controlling and looking after the casualty. The boy was on his back, screamin his head off.

    A 7.62 round had hit him in the wrist and traveled up his forearm, exiting just below the elbow. He'd lost all the muscle mass on the lower arm.

    He was screaming like a pig. He was going to live, but he must have been in agony. All the other boys were clustered around, looking very sick.

    It was a matter of controlling the people who were in the huts and also controlling our own people, who looked as if they wanted to bolt back into the jungle and run and run.

    "Get back!" I shouted. "Cover that hut!" My ranting and pointing meant more to them than what I was saying.

    Rod had the medic pack with him. He looked up at me and said, "It's just a matter of plugging up the holes to stop the blood. If he stopped screaming, he'd see he's okay." Then he looked at the boy on the ground and screamed: "Shut up!"

    He unwrapped more field dressings and pressed them hard onto the wound.

    He grabbed a pack of hemocell and tried to get an IV line into him. The boy had lost a lot of blood and needed more fluids fast. He was going into shock. Still, some people just stood around; perhaps they were in shock, too.

    Tony was in the huts, controlling the people inside with lots of shouting and kicking. I heard a shout of "Shut the fuck up now!" His group had plasticuffed them, picked them up, grabbed them by the hair or their clothes, and got them on the ground, hollering and shouting to keep them scared and under control. Now they were manhandling them out of the door and making them lie down on their stomachs in the mud.

    While some of the police covered the prisoners with their weapons, others searched them. Some of the boys started to kick and rifle-butt them. There was no time to stop it-and why should we? We were not interested in names, who they were, what they were; that was someone else's job. All we wanted to do was control them and make sure they hadn't got any concealed weapons or run.

    "We are now going to search you," one of the police said, slapping the back of a narcos head. "If you resist, you will be shot. Do you understand?"

    I called over to Tony. "I'll just get the people out of the other hut."

    As I went In, I saw wooden beds with tables, a couple of old chests of drawers, ashtrays full up, cans of beer.

    The room stank of sweat and farts. A group of people lay on their beds, faces down, hands on the back of their heads. There must have been two weapons pointing at every prisoner.

    I went back outside, got hold of Nino, and said, "Help me put the antennas out for the radio."

    I started to get the sitrep ready. Originally it was going to be a proper sitrep, saying: Done, we need the helis in now, how many people we'd caught, how many casualties. But instead I just banged it out:

    "We've got a man down. I want the aircraft in on the orange smoke."

    Rod was still with the casualty. He called out, "Everything all right?

    We got the aircraft coming in?"

    "Yep, just waiting for the auto acknowledgment."

    I got it. The helis were on their way in. I left the radio where it was; we might be needing it in a minute.

    On the Motorola I heard Tony talking to Terry-.

    "Terry, check?"

    "Yep."

    "Come on in now, mate, Move down the path." ."Roger that. We've got a dead runner. Do you want him brought in?"

    "Yeah, bring him in."

    Tony was shouting to make sure everybody knew the patrol was going to be coming up the path. Everybody was so hyper at the moment, chances were they'd just turn around and shoot them.

    A couple of minutes later I heard them shouting that they were coming in; then I saw them. Two of the policemen were dragging the dead man;

    Terry had his weapon, a G3.

    Terry's patrol were really happy with themselves.

    They had the air of hunters home with the kill. They left the body to one side, giving him a quick macho kick and a prod. Then they found out that somebody on their side had been dropped, and their expressions changed to one of concern.

    By now he'd been stabilized. He'd gone into shock, but Rod had got some hemocell into him. He wasn't going to lose any more blood, but he was down; he was severely down.

    By now everybody had been sorted out, trussed up with plasticuffs between the two buildings. I went over and had a look. There were three narcos, the bottle washer, and one white-eye.

    "Fucking hell," I said to Tony. "We saw eight. We've got some runners here."

    Tony kicked one of the narcos and shouted: "Gringos? Where are the gringos?"

    He shouted to the European, holding his head up by the hair: "Where are they? Where are they?"

    The white-eye said nothing.

    "Look, if they're running, they're going to get shot.

    Tell us where they are. We might be able to save them."

    Nothing. It was the boy I'd seen on my first CTR, still in the shitty T-shirt. He was severely scared.

    Tony started on the old man: "Where's the gringos)"

    He started gabbing off, indicating with his head that they'd gone toward the river.

    "Fuck!" I said. I couldn't believe they'd got past the cutoff group.

    Straightaway I blamed it on Nino. The stupid wanker.

    The wounded boy had been sorted out, and another couple of lads were looking after him now. Rod came over, looked at me hard, and said,

    "What the fuck happened?" with a look that blamed me.

    "That cunt had an ND."

    Nino sat on the steps of the hut, severely pissed off.

    "Get him out of the way," Rod said. "Tell him to sit by the radio."

    He stormed off and checked the casualty.

    Terry came over. "Right. I'll get my lads down to the river and tell them to keep their eyes open. They will knife up the boats, so if we have got runners, they aren't going to take them. We're not going to get jack shit out of this lot. The white-eye's a pain in the arse.

    He knows the score, he knows he's going to get away with it. This is fucking annoying."

    Rod agreed. "Yeah, do that, and we will get a brew on.