Ultimate Weapon (41 page)

As Jed walked swiftly around the tank, he saw Nick standing next to the third soldier. The guy hadn’t even had time to finish taking a piss. He was standing, immobilised by fear, holding on to his dick. ‘
Min fadlik
,’
he kept saying, the words trembling on his lips. ‘
Min fadlik
.’

Please, thought Jed. I’m getting used to that phrase.
The guy is begging for his life.

‘What’s keeping you?’ said Jed roughly.

‘What shall I do with him?’ said Nick tersely.

Jed shrugged. ‘Kill the bugger,’ he said.

He looked at the man. He was tall, over six foot, and no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. His black hair was slicked down over his head, and though his brown eyes were strong and determined, you could tell how scared he was. ‘We could just tie him up,’ said Nick.

Jed glanced at him. It’s been a while, he thought. Nick hasn’t been in the forces for a decade. He’s forgotten that callous brutality is the first trick of our trade. ‘I said, kill him.’

Nick was turning his AK-47 towards the man. ‘
Min fadlik
,’ he repeated, his voice starting to break into a sob. Nick’s finger was hovering on the trigger. ‘We’re not sodding murderers,’ he growled. ‘At least we weren’t in my day.’

‘Want me to do it?’ said Jed, turning his own gun on the man.

Nick paused. ‘Yes, you do it,’ he said.

The soldier was glancing anxiously from man to man. His eyes were swivelling like a frightened dog. Sod it, thought Jed. Put the bastard out of his misery. He squeezed the trigger hard on the AK-47, holding the gun rock steady as a rapid burst of fire exploded from its barrel. The bullet ripped through the man’s chest,
shredding his lungs and heart in a fraction of a second. The blood spilt from him, and some words were about to form on his lips, but the air had already emptied out of him, and he was unable to speak. As his legs crumpled beneath him, he crashed into an ugly mess on the ground.

Jed folded the gun behind his back. A surge of anger and aggression was raging through him, and he took a deep, hard breath of the night air to try and calm himself. He looked at Nick. He’d already put away his gun, and was heading for the tank. ‘Let’s go,’ he said tersely. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

With one powerful movement of his forearms, Nick hoisted himself up on to the platform of the T-55. The tank had been painted desert sand, natural camouflage for its most natural arena. There was some evidence of rust around the tracks, but to Nick it looked in pretty good shape. The Russians had built thousands of T-55s during the 1950s and 60s, then passed the designs on to the Chinese. It was the most common tank in the world, the Ford Mondeo of military vehicles: it wasn’t the best in the world, and didn’t pretend to be, but it was cheap and reliable, and it could punch a deadly hole in just about any opponent it came up against.

Nick pulled back the turret, and glanced inside. Empty. He was about to drop down into the cockpit when he could feel Jed tugging at his shoulder. ‘You fucking bottled it,’ he snapped.

Spinning round, Nick looked straight at the younger man. His face was red with anger. ‘I what … ?’

‘You bloody bottled it back there, Nick,’ said Jed. He was staring into Nick’s eyes. ‘You were meant to drop the bastard but you couldn’t do it.’

‘I’d have been fine,’ said Nick. ‘I was just about to shoot him.’

‘You bloody froze, mate. You couldn’t do it.’

‘I didn’t have any bloody ammo left in my gun, you tosser. I didn’t bottle anything, never have done.’ He started to lever himself down into the cockpit, but Jed was still tugging at the shoulder of his military tunic. ‘Let go,’ he snapped.

‘What happened to you in Iraq last time?’

‘None of your bloody business.’

‘It is my business, because I’m stuck with you right now. And if I’m stuck with a bloke who bottles a fight I need to know.’ He leant close into Nick’s face, and his voice dropped to no more than a whisper. ‘Did you bottle it last time round, Nick? Is that what happened? Did you let your mates down?

‘I don’t let anyone down,’ Nick shouted, his face hot with anger. ‘It’s a fucking lie, I tell you.
A lie
.’

Leave it, thought Jed. I’ve seen enough to draw my own conclusions, and I don’t believe that bollocks about being out of ammo. Nick isn’t a man you can rely on. When you’re in the last ditch, he’s not going to be there for you.
When this mission turns rough, I’m going to have to look after myself
.

The interior of the tank was cramped, even with only two men inside it, although it was designed for four. There was space for a driver, a navigator and two
gunners, one at the front and back. The Iraqis had reinforced the basic design with an extra layer of armour designed to provide some protection against the antitank missiles the machine could now expect to face, and that extra thick metal skin had reduced the interior space even more. Nick was already firing up the massive diesel engine, and as the machine started to roll into life, Jed could feel the metal frame start to vibrate beneath him. ‘You can drive this bugger?’ said Jed.

Nick grimaced. ‘You young bastards don’t know anything,’ he said. ‘I joined the army when we still had a Cold War. Learning how to drive a Soviet tank was one of the first things we did.’ He smiled to himself at the memory. ‘We had proper enemies in those days. Not just the bloody ragheads.’

He kick-started the accelerator, and slowly the machine started to rumble into life. There was the sound of metal scratching against metal as the wheels turned, pulling it across the tarmac. It shook violently as Nick searched around for the right gear, shuddering as it lurched forwards. ‘Christ,’ said Jed. ‘I’ve been in minicabs where the drivers had more idea what they were bloody doing.’

‘Just leave it,’ said Nick.

The tank was rolling towards the entrance to the admin building. They stopped to pick up Wilmington, and although the scientist was clearly terrified, he was more frightened of being left by himself than getting inside the tank. Then they advanced onwards. Jed had done training in tanks, but he’d never liked them. You
felt trapped inside them, and even if you looked through the viewfinders, you never really had any idea what was happening around you. He preferred to be in the thick of the battle, where he could see and smell what was happening, and where you still had some chance of reacting fast enough to save your life.

Looking through the thin viewing strip, he could see the building looming up fast. It was only a couple of hundred yards away from them now. The first strip of barbed wire wasn’t going to provide any opposition to a T-55. Nick drove the tank straight up to it, and in the next instant you could feel the weight of the machine crushing it. The enormous bulk of the T-55 rolled across the wire like it was cotton wool, then accelerated towards the secondary layer of ditches, wire and sentry posts that provided the building with its main protection. As soon as they crushed the first layer of wire, Jed could hear soldiers shouting, and then the sound of gunfire. How many men were out there, he couldn’t yet tell. Perhaps two dozen. Whatever number it was, he reflected grimly, they hadn’t expected one of their own tanks to come after them.

Slamming his foot down hard on the accelerator, Nick took the T-55 up a gear. It rolled violently into a ditch, then started to climb its way out. You could hear the metal screeching all around you as it punched its way through the barbed wire. The T-55 was equipped with two machine guns, as well its main artillery piece: a coaxial gun on its main turret, and a smaller anti-aircraft gun on its side. Both could be operated from the driver’s
cockpit. Through the viewfinder, Jed could see three Iraqi soldiers rushing towards them, their guns blazing. He turned the machine gun on them and rattled off a quick burst of fire. The tank fired high-calibre bullets that completely shredded people: limbs and heads were strewn over the ground. It’s like mowing the lawn, he thought grimly. From somewhere, he could hear more firing, a machine gun from the racket it was making. The bullets were smashing into the side of the T-55, but bouncing harmlessly away.

It was hot and sweaty within the cramped confines of the T-55. Looking ahead, Jed could see they just had one more set of barriers to break through, then they could punch their way into the main building. ‘I’m going to shell the bastard,’ muttered Nick. ‘Hold tight.’

‘What about Sarah?’ shouted Jed, straining to make his voice heard above the noise of the tank.

‘I’ll take out the entrance, that’s all. If she’s there, they won’t be holding her by the bloody door.’

Slamming his hand down hard on the controls, Nick fired a shell from the tank’s main artillery cannon. There was a brief silence while the hulking piece of metal whizzed through the air, then a terrifying explosion as it smashed into the security barrier and tore into the main entrance to the building. Without pausing for a second, Nick slammed his fist down hard again, firing another shell straight into the same space. Up ahead, a fireball erupted into the sky. He could hear the cries and screams of wounded, dying men, as the shell cut deep into the ground, then exploded upwards, destroying
everything around it. Dust and smoke were filling the air, but as it gradually began to clear, Jed could see that the barrier had been completely destroyed. A dozen corpses were lying mutilated across the ground, and half the front wall of the building had been blown away. The T-55 might be an antique, thought Jed, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t destroy a building in a couple of minutes.

‘Any more of the bastards?’ grunted Nick.

Jed looked around. The tank was still rolling forwards so that it was within yards of the main entrance. The smoke from the two shells was gradually clearing, and so far as Jed could see, the guards had all been killed. Touching the brakes, Nick brought the tank to a juddering halt. In the back, Wilmington was squatting immobilised, too terrified even to move. ‘You think it’s safe to get out?’ said Jed.

Nick shrugged. ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said roughly. ‘Stick your head out, and see if it gets shot off.’

Jed paused. ‘I don’t suppose you’re volunteering.’

‘Somebody’s got to drive the tank,’ said Nick. ‘You go.’

Jed readied his AK-47. He flipped open the turret of the T-55, and put the barrel of his gun out first. Were there any snipers out there waiting to have a shot at him? He waited, counting up to five. Nothing. With one swift movement, he hauled himself out of the tank, and jumped down to the ground, keeping his finger poised on the trigger of his AK-47 as he did so. There was
blood spilt across the ground: from a quick glance, he reckoned at least a dozen men had been killed by the two shells. He checked the bodies one by one, making sure each man was dead before he moved on: there was nothing more dangerous than a badly wounded soldier who suddenly recovered enough strength to lob a grenade at you. Only two of them were still alive, but neither seemed to be conscious. Jed finished them off with a quick double tap to the head. Sorry, boys, he thought grimly, as he delivered the bullets. No time to call in the Red Cross.
You’d do the same if you were in my boots.

‘Clear,’ he shouted towards the tank.

Nick was hauling a clearly terrified Wilmington out of the tank. He jumped down to the ground, shoving the professor out in front of him. Jed glanced quickly down the street, checking there were no reinforcements on the way, then stepped through into what remained of the lobby. Plaster and dust were strewn everywhere from where the shells had taken out the front wall. Shards of metal and severed wires were sticking out of the broken wall, and somewhere Jed could hear the sound of gushing water where a pipe had been burst open.

‘What are we looking for?’ Nick said to Wilmington.

For a moment, he remained silent. Then his lips started to move, but he was trembling too badly for the words to form on his lips.

‘I said, what the hell are we looking for?’ Nick repeated, louder this time, leaning close into the professor’s face.

‘Second floor,’ said Wilmington. ‘Last time I was here, that’s where all the main weapons research was being done.’

The shattered lobby had three lifts, but they were all broken: the power lines had all been severed when the shells struck. Through a back door there was a service staircase that ran up the back of the building. Jed started to run, with Nick bringing Wilmington along behind. His finger was poised on the trigger of his AK-47: anyone who came to see what was happening was going to be shot on sight.

On the second floor, he stopped. The lights were working up here: they must be on a different electrical circuit, Jed figured. He checked his watch. It was just after two in the morning. ‘Why here?’ he said, to Wilmington.

‘This is the most sensitive part of Saddam’s weapons research network. This is where all the most intense work on trying to create nuclear and biological weapons is done.’

‘I thought he already had stockpiles of them,’ said Nick.

‘So Tony Blair keeps telling everyone,’ said Wilmington with a shrug.

Jed steadied himself, held his gun in front of him, then kicked the door open and stepped into the brightly lit corridor. Nothing. So far as he could see, there was nobody around. The main room had two dozen computer terminals arranged on workbenches. Along the back wall there was a set of sensitive measuring
equipment, and behind that a sealed room that looked something like an operating theatre. Jed started to march through the room. ‘Sarah,’ he shouted. ‘Sarah.’