Land of Fire (42 page)

We crossed several bridges one of them spanning the river Doug and I had swum across on the mission twenty years before and passed through two villages. Nowhere though did we meet any resistance; all the houses were shuttered against the storm. Perhaps the telephone lines were down or perhaps the inhabitants wanted no part in the government's battles.

We met no other traffic of any kind. I assumed that the border had been closed and most local movements shut down by the weather. No one but madmen or desperados would be out in such conditions.

As the night wore on we changed over at intervals to give everyone a chance to warm out in the cab. Only Concha was allowed to remain. She slept much of the time, but towards five o'clock, when I returned from a stint in the rear snow-covered and shivering, I found her sitting up and talking.

"We must be only twenty kilometres from the border now," she told me. "Another two hours perhaps at this speed."

I told her of Seb's boast that the border would be strongly garrisoned and she shrugged. "Usually there is only a small unit of customs and police. It is possible though that the military has taken extra precautions. In any case, there are ways around the town smugglers' routes. They are long and slow, but I can lead you across."

I glanced from the window. Time was running against us. The weather was moderating, and with it the likelihood of the Argies coming after us increased. If there was a helicopter, the sooner we could rendezvous with it the better.

Concha sighed. "So many killings ... Is anything ever worth dying for?"

"As a soldier you have to be prepared to give your life for what you believe in," I said. "That goes for all soldiers, Argentine or British. If your number comes up that's the way it has to be."

"And you? Will you go on until your number comes up one day, as you put it?"

"No," I told her. "This is my last mission, me and Doug."

"And will you be sad?"

"Sad to leave the Regiment," I answered. "It's been my whole life."

"Tell me about it," she murmured, leaning her head against my shoulder.

So while we ground on through the night I told her about Northern Ireland and the battles to contain the terrorist bombers; of fighting drug lords in Columbia and lifting war criminals out of safe havens in the Balkans. I described storming hijacked aircraft, and Nobby told her of the time he had parachuted on to a cruise liner in mid ocean that was being held by fundamentalists.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked me when I had done.

"No," I told her with a grin. "Not right now." I thought about Jenny as I spoke, but that was all in the past now.

She had fallen asleep again by the time seven o'clock approached. The snow had changed to a light powder that hung in the air, glistening in the beam of the headlamp. The road condition had improved, and we appeared to be running more or less on a hard surface again.

After a while the snow stopped altogether. Nobby eased off the throttle.

I sat up. "What's wrong?" I hoped it wasn't a problem with the truck.

"I think I can see lights ahead."

"Cut the headlamp." I reached for my gun and we stared across the pale snow at the scattered pinpricks in the distance. "Looks like a small town. Probably San Sebastian. We must be close to the border."

"About fucking time too," Nobby said. "The engine's starting to run hot."

I leaned over to squint at the gauge. It was hovering at the edge of the red zone. "Oil or water leak?" I hazarded.

"Could be either. With the treatment the old bus has had these past few hours it's amazing she's got this far."

"Well, try to keep her going. The border can't be more than four or five kilometres off."

I crawled through into the back and shook Doug alert. "I'm going to take Seb up front to try contacting Chile."

"Aye," he said. "If the fucker gives you any trouble, let me know and I'll give him some persuading."

I pulled Seb up and untied his hands and feet. We had given him his turn inside during the night, but now he was so numbed he could hardly stand. It took two of us to get him up and push him through into the cab.

He rubbed his fingers and blew on them. Ice had congealed in his beard and eyebrows, and his eyes were red with fatigue and pain. "Where are we now?" he asked.

I told him that judging by the odometer reading we had done eighty kilometres and must be close to the border. I took the phone out. "Tell me the code and I'll punch it in."

"The code to switch the phone on is simple: 241982, the second of April 1982 the date for Operation Azul, the occupation of the Malvinas."

I tapped in the numbers and the display came alive. I showed it to him.

"The signal is very weak. It would be better to drive on a while till it improves."

Ten minutes later the signal bars indicated some reasonable reception. "What's the number?" I asked him.

"First we have to find our position with the GPS."

This part of the device was more or less standard with others that I had used. I obtained a fix and noted down the coordinates. "OK, give me the number to call. And remember play any tricks and it's your life you're fucking with."

Seb rattled off a ten-digit figure. I committed it to memory and punched the buttons. To my relief the display showed a connection. "Right, we're through. Now what? You said a text message."

"Condor, like the eagle."

"That's all?"

"That is the code-word for requesting an immediate extraction. Then you add the GPS coordinate. That is enough."

I did as he instructed and pressed the send button. The display told me the message had been sent.

"Leave the phone on. If we shift our position we will have to update the GPS fix. When the helicopter is in the air it can interrogate the unit and home in on us."

That was ingenious. "A clever bit of kit," I told him. "How long do we have to wait?"

"They will be waiting for the call. To get the aircraft into the air, half an hour then we are only a few minutes' flying time away."

I retied Seb's hands. "Might as well stop here and let the engine cool down," I said to Nobby. "No sense in driving any further than we have to."

We sat in the darkness, listening to the tick of the engine block cooling while the wind played about us. Kiwi got down to have a pee. "Don't stray too far," I warned him. "If anything comes along we may have to take off in a hurry."

Faint fingers of grey were creeping over the eastern horizon,

and the darkness thinned so that the outlines of objects became clearer. We could almost make out one another's faces. Concha sat up and looked about. "I know this place. The border is only two kilometres away. We could walk it easily even in the snow."

I shook my head. "You heard what Seb said the border will be sealed tight and the Argies will be waiting for us. They'll have patrols out, helicopters, the works, and they won't be taking prisoners. Tabbing out is a last resort." We were all of us tired. The thought of stepping into a nice big helicopter and being whisked back to the warmth and safety of Port Stanley was hard to resist.

Time crept past. I looked at the watch Seb had lent me half-past seven. Maybe there was no helicopter. Suppose it was just a ploy of Seb's to delay us here? It would be dawn in another hour. If we were to try for the border on foot I knew we had better leave soon, before it got light.

I eased Concha's head off my shoulder and turned to the rear to talk to Doug. "We can't hang about here much longer. I think we should start footing it across the border and call the helicopter again from the other side."

Doug grunted. I could tell he didn't like the idea. "You're the boss," he said.

At that moment the handset in my pocket emitted a beep. "What's that?" I said to Seb.

"The helicopter is interrogating the GPS receiver. It must be airborne and on its way."

Everybody cheered up.

We waited a few minutes more.

I was getting edgy again when Kiwi said, "Listen!"

We all sat up. Faintly, from the distance, came the regular thump of helicopter blades.

It grew stronger as we listened.

"Coming from the west," I said.

"South of west," Doug countered. "He's overshot and flying a search pattern."

We listened some more. The noise of the helicopter grew steadily and the handset beeped again, making us jump.

"He's come in to the south of us, picked up the road and he's following our tracks," Doug said eagerly.

"Everyone get ready," I ordered. I turned back towards Seb. He was sitting bolt upright in the middle seat between Nobby and me. His eyes were closed and his lips were moving silently. "Seb." I nudged him. "Come on, get your arse in gear."

The noise of the blades was much louder now. "Twin-engine job?" Nobby suggested, puzzled. Seb still wasn't responding. His eyes were squeezed tight shut as if in pain. The helicopter sound was suddenly deafening.

Then it hit me. "Christ!" I shouted. "That's no civilian bird, that's an attack chopper! Everybody out!" And I flung the handset from me. "You bastard!" I yelled at Seb. "You set us up again!" He didn't move. "Well, you can stay here and get what's coming to you!" Grabbing his bound hands, I used the tail-end of the para cord to lash him to the steering wheel.

Concha looked scared. I reached across her to open the door, pushed her out and jumped after her into the road. Kiwi and Doug were baling out of the rear. "Run!" I bawled at Concha, grabbing her arm and hustling her across the road.

We plunged into the snow on the far side, our feet sinking thigh-deep into the grass and heather underneath.

"Faster! Keep going!" I shouted. "Get away from the vehicle!"

The other three were sprinting ahead, leaping through the snow and bush in great bounds. We could hear the roar of the helicopter engines blasting up the road towards us, and I looked back. Concha was gasping for breath. I dragged her ruthlessly on. We were 200 metres from the truck when a searchlight beam blazed suddenly out of the sky in the south.

"Down!" I shouted, flinging myself flat, throwing Concha into the snow. "Burrow underneath and lie still!"

I wriggled into the long grass, then worked myself round, rifle at the ready. Lifting my head slightly I saw the monstrous, blazing eye skimming up the road from the south. Just visible in the backwash of the searchlight was the stubby outline of an attack helicopter, like a huge predatory insect, cannon barrel projecting from its snout and menacing rockets slung beneath the winglet pylons. Fucking hell, I thought, an Apache!

The Apache was the US Army's primary attack helicopter, designed to operate day and night and in all weather. "Flying tank' would be a more accurate description. The fuselage is invulnerable to ordinary rifle and machine-gun fire it would take a lucky hit from a 23mm cannon shell to bring it down. The leading edges of the main rotor blades are plated in stainless steel to survive impact with trees and metal fragments during low flight, and the pilot and gunner sit in Kevlar-armoured seats for protection over the battlefield. The armaments comprise a 30mm Hughes chain-gun, thirty-eight 70mm unguided explosive-head rockets, and eight Hellfire anti-tank missiles. In short, it is fast, heavily armed, and near impossible to knock out.

It swung in dead along the centre line of the road. I heard the swoosh of a missile and ducked my head again. There was a shattering explosion and the ground heaved underneath us. Snow and debris rained from the sky. I risked another look. The truck was burning from a direct hit.

The Apache spun round on a wingtip, and passed directly over where we lay crouching. Christ, I thought, we're much too close. A near miss with an anti-tank missile or rockets could take us all out.

I saw the pilot line up along the road again. There was a burst of flame from under the starboard wing-stub and a pod of unguided rockets streaked towards the ground like burning arrows. The ground heaved again and the truck vanished in a cloud of smoke and fire.

The Apache was circling round again. I held my breath. The truck was lying toppled over on its side, a mass of flames. The bodies of Josh and the four Argentines had fallen out and lay strewn in pieces in the snow. I prayed it would look to the crew like they had got us all. I couldn't see Seb, but he must have been dead too. The road was cratered for fifty metres either end of the truck. If the gunner launched his second load of rockets from the western side of the road, we were done for.

The helicopter lined up from the north this time. Its searchlight blazed through the smoke like an evil eye as the gunner loosed his other pod. The nineteen 70mm folding-fm rockets spread out in a fan formation, rushing towards us in a cloud. I wedged myself down into the earth, clutching Concha's hand.

The explosions seemed to go on and on. Something struck the ground nearby with incredible violence; metal fragments fell hissing all around us. One of the rockets had run wide and ploughed into the snow metres away.

Snow whirled round me in a cyclone as the machine thundered overhead. The truck was still on its side, burning fiercely.

The Apache pivoted, there was a shattering sound, and a solid stream of red light stabbed out from the helicopter into the truck. The gunner was letting go with his Hughes chain-gun. The 30mm rounds ripped into the wrecked truck, slicing through the metal like a giant chainsaw, tearing it apart, obliterating it in a cloud of flying pieces.

Jesus, I thought if he turns that thing on us we're done for.

The helicopter buzzed around the wreckage like a hungry wasp, giving occasional squirts from the cannon, while we cowered in the snow. Abruptly its nose lifted and it soared skywards, its tail spinning around.

Uh-oh, I thought. It's going to check around for survivors.

The Apache held the hover for a minute. I watched the turret swivelling from side to side as the gunner scoured the ground through his heat-sensitive goggles to locate us. Against the snow we must have stood out like fireflies in the dark.

I readied my 203 not that it would be any use. The bastard was on the far side of the highway, the burning remains of the truck between him and us. He could sit up there at a thousand feet and rake us with the chain-gun from a safe range.