Ultimate Weapon (21 page)

Jed took the pistol strapped across his belt, slamming it into his fists. He unclamped its safety catch. He could see the burning red of tracer fire bursting out of Steve’s gun. He was firing into the darkness, but his position was horribly exposed: he had nothing he could hide behind. Jed’s head swivelled round, trying to get a lock
on where the fire was coming from. Jed glanced towards the watchtower closest to the entrance. He could see a guy up there, turning the light towards where Steve was. Jed pointed the pistol straight ahead of him, letting off a burst of fire. The man screamed as the bullets tore through him, then fell to the ground. One down, thought Jed. Make that two, counting the guy next to the gate.
But how many of the buggers are there?

More fire was starting up. Jed was hiding next to the back of the plant, taking shelter, but he could hear the bullets pinging off its metal skin like raindrops hitting a tin roof. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, as the adrenalin of the fight took hold of him. ‘You there?’ shouted Steve, across the courtyard.

There was no point in worrying about chemicals now. They were about to die anyway. The air rushed into his lungs, hot and humid: he could taste the gunpowder and oil in it, and it made his stomach wrench. ‘Here,’ shouted Jed.

‘Get towards the back wall, I’ll cover you,’ shouted Steve.

Jed glanced around the side of the plant. He could see that Steve had run away from the entrance to the admin block, and was crouching close to the entrance to the plant. There were two dead bodies at his side. One man was up in the watchtower, and at least a dozen more were firing from the broken windows of the admin block. But with enough fire laid down to keep their attacks at bay, there was just a chance Jed could get across the courtyard, and on to the wall where Matt
would be waiting for them. ‘What about you?’ shouted Jed.

‘I’ll be OK, man. Now just fucking run. I can’t hold these fuckers much longer.’

Bugger it, Jed thought. I can’t leave Steve there. We’ve already lost one man on this bloody mission.
We’re not going to lose another
.

He took out a grenade, pulled the pin and started running. With one swift movement, he lobbed the grenade towards the admin block. It crashed against the side of the building, exploding in a haze of smoke. The rate of firing increased, but it was wild and inaccurate. The enclosed courtyard was starting to fill up with smoke and bullets, a nasty fog of death. Jed tore into the darkness, steering himself towards Steve by memory. ‘Here, man, here,’ he was shouting, his voice ragged, his lungs filling up with the smoke from the grenades. ‘We’re clearing out together.’

He grabbed hold of Steve’s arm, the two of them starting to run together. It was forty yards back to the wall where they had come over. Matt had thrown down a rope and an AK-47, and was lying flat on the top of the wall, his own AK-47 pivoted towards the admin block, laying down rapid bursts of fire. The rate of fire was increasing. Jed pulled the pin on another stun grenade, tossing it towards the admin building and waiting to hear the sound of the explosion before running on.

Steve stumbled, and a low scream started to rise up from his lips. ‘Move. Fuck it, move,’ shouted Jed. He
dragged at his arm, but could feel the weight of the man pulling him back. Bullets were smashing into the ground all around him, kicking up dust and blowing tiny chunks of brittle concrete up into the air. The MOPP suit was filling up with sweat and dirt, making Jed’s whole body feel as if it was being licked by flames. He tugged hard. Then he turned round. Steve’s foot was dragging behind him, his face twisted with pain. Jed could see the fear and despair that was starting to take a grip on the man. ‘It’s my foot,’ said Steve. ‘The bullet’s gone into my fucking foot.’

‘You’ll be all right,’ shouted Jed. ‘Just hold on to my arm.’

He started to drag him. Steve was trying to bury the pain as the wounded foot scraped through the dust. Jed looked forward. Another twenty yards to the wall. He could see the rope, twisting down, and he could see Matt laying down fire towards the admin block. One scream, then another. The Iraqis were taking a beating, but they weren’t about to give up. They knew they had the edge, in numbers.
With enough time, they can just outgun us
.

Another bullet ricocheted off the wall, then slammed itself into Steve’s chest. The Kevlar underneath his T-shirt deflected the tiny lump of metal, but the blow still struck him like a hammer. He stumbled and fell, crashing to the ground. The smoke from the grenades was filling the courtyard with ugly, thick plumes of dust, and they were still ten yards from the wall. Matt was laying down some fire in the direction of the admin block, but the
Iraqis weren’t taking any punishment. They couldn’t see well enough to aim, but that wasn’t stopping them firing aimlessly into the courtyard. This is a slaughterhouse, Jed thought grimly.
And I’m in the middle of it
.

Another bullet smashed into Steve’s thigh. The wound was a bad one, and blood was starting to gush from it. Steve rolled over, his fist clenched together in agony. ‘Just bugger off,’ he muttered. ‘I’m done for. Just leave me.’

Jed knelt down. He could hear the bullets stinging the ground all around him. The noise was battering his ears, and the smoke and debris of shattered concrete was filling his lungs. He gripped Steve’s leg, and started trying to push his hand down on to the bleeding wound to staunch the blood loss. ‘Grab it, you fucker,’ he shouted down into Steve’s face.

‘I’m not going to bloody make it,’ said Steve. ‘And if you don’t run now, neither are you.’

Jed was suddenly reminded of what Nick had told him. He wished he’d fought the Iraqis and helped his mate. It might mean death.
But it was better than being taken alive
.

‘Just keep bloody quiet,’ he snapped. ‘You’re losing enough strength as it is.’

Jed grabbed Steve around the chest, and with one heave lifted the man clean off the ground. He grunted, then hoisted him up over his shoulder. Steve was a heavy man, weighing in at almost two hundred pounds, and his kit made the load even heavier. Ignore it, Jed told himself. Ten yards. That’s all.

He staggered forward. One step, then another. Blood was flowing freely from the wound, mixing with the sweat and dirt that had already filled Jed’s suit, creating a pungent, sticky, crimson mess.

A bullet. It hit Jed hard in the chest, just below the heart. The impact was like a crane smashing into your side. He could feel the square lump of steel thump him, and pain started to ripple out into every muscle. The Kevlar deflected the path, and within an instant Jed knew that it had saved him. But the bullet had unsteadied his balance. He was wobbling, finding it hard to keep a grip on the ground. He staggered one more step, then another, fighting his way though the fog and noise. Another bullet had ripped into Steve’s side, lodging itself in the man’s stomach. The blood was falling from two wounds now, emptying itself out of his body like the liquid from a broken bottle. He had lost consciousness. And within a few seconds, Jed realised, probably his life as well.

He staggered forwards, pushing himself to cover the last few yards. His breath was ragged, and his heart thumping in his chest. He’d seen combat before, but he’d had the right kit then, and enough force. This was something different. This was a beating.
And the way it looked right now, they were all going to die
.

‘Blow the fuckers up,’ Jed screamed at Matt.

He put Steve down, relieved to get the weight from his shoulders. It only took one look into his eyes to see that he was dead: the glazy, watery, despairing look of the corpse had already taken hold of him. The rope was dangling against the wall. Jed gripped hold of it. One
bullet smashed into the wall, then another. Bits of concrete were chewed out of its surface, spitting up into the air. The fog from the grenades was starting to clear, and the Iraqi fire was becoming more accurate. In a few seconds, they’d be able to see him clearly.
Then I’ll be dead for sure.

‘Get Steve,’ said Matt.

‘He’s bloody dead,’ snapped Jed.

‘Bring him up,’ yelled Matt.

‘I told you, he’s bloody dead,’ shouted Jed. ‘Now blow the fuckers.’

Matt’s eyes furrowed together. A look of blind fury contorted his face, twisting his mouth and cheeks into an ugly grimace. He took a series of grenades from his belt, and started tossing them into the centre of the compound. He could hear a series of screams as the explosions took down three, maybe four of the Iraqi soldiers. Great clouds of smoke and dust were billowing out of the courtyard as the grenades detonated, each explosion amplifying the last one.

Jed grabbed hold of the rope, hauling himself up the wall. He could see Matt turning his fire towards the door of the admin block, laying it into the area around the door, to keep the Iraqis pinned back. There were cries of pain and shock as men’s bodies were caught up in the explosion, then more cries and barked commands as they tried to make sense of the situation.

Havoc and destruction, thought Jed, as he cowered from the rising blast.
What this Regiment has always done best
.

Matt looked at him, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘You fucking killed him, you tosser,’ he shouted. ‘That’s two of us you’ve done for now.’

‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ snapped Jed. ‘It’s a sodding slaughterhouse down there.’

Down by the admin block, Jed could see that two of the Iraqis had caught fire, their bodies burning on the edge of the courtyard. The sickening smell of singed flesh was filling the air, mixing with the burning wood and plasterboard. One soldier had run forward to try and put out the flames licking across his mate, but Matt had already turned his pistol on him, spraying him with a sprinkling of bullets that ripped through his chest and lungs. The guy fell to the ground. Jed could see flames racing across the courtyard spitting upwards into the night sky. Whatever the hell it was they were making in there, thought Jed, it was certainly flammable.

He rolled off the wall, hitting the ground with a thump, then tore off his MOPP suit. ‘Move, you fucker,’ he shouted up at Matt.

He looked around. The street leading away from the plant was already starting to fill with people. Some were leaning out of windows, trying to see what was happening. A few – the smarter ones, thought Jed – were evacuating the area. They were running out of their houses, some of them getting into their cars. He could already hear the wails of police and army sirens, but they were some way off. A mile maybe. Enough, he decided. In the crowd, we can still escape.

‘I said, bloody move,’ he shouted at Matt again.

Behind him, he could hear the first muffled sounds of an explosion. ‘Let’s go,’ said Matt, landing with a thump at his side.

Jed had cast aside his MOPP suit, and stuffed it in his kitbag. Sprinting away, the two men plunged into the crowd. People were thronging on to the street now, many of them still in their nightclothes. A smell of fear was filling the streets, and the noise of men and women shouting was deafening. Flames were still rising up from the plant, as fire started by the grenades started to spread, along with an odour of tar and burnt paint.

‘Just lose ourselves, but keep tight to me,’ hissed Jed.

He could feel a mass of panic-filled people all around him. One guy was elbowing him, trying to make some space for his family. A woman was wailing, looking around desperately for one of her kids. Jed fingered the digital camera in his pocket. Two good men have died already for these pictures, he thought bitterly.
For what?

The pub smelt of cold lager and lukewarm chips. A typical student hang-out, thought Nick, as he sat himself down at the bar. Scruffy, cheap, and not too bothered about how drunk you got.

‘Diet Coke,’ he told the barman.

I’ll save the drinking for later. For when I really need it.

He looked around the main room. A group of young guys had sat themselves down at one table, starting an animated debate about last night’s football. Nick checked his watch. It was just after six. Lana had said Sam Beston always came into the Three Crowns around that time for a beer. About six foot, she’d said, with lanky brown hair, and usually wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, often with his iPod plugged into his ears. Useful, thought Nick. Most of the guys in here look just like that.

She’d given him a mobile number, but he hadn’t wanted to ring it. After his confrontation with Wilmington, he’d been more certain than ever that whatever had happened to Sarah, it had something to do with her work in the Cambridge labs. If I get in touch with the kid, then he might disappear as well.
Who’s to say they’re not listening to his mobile calls, the same way they followed me and tapped my phone?

Whoever the hell
they
are.

Two guys were standing next to the bar, both ordering pints of bitter. Both tall, both with brown hair, but one of them was wearing jeans, the other chinos. Nick looked across. ‘I’m looking for a guy called Sam Beston,’ he said.

The taller of the two students glanced at him. There wasn’t even a trace of suspicion in his eyes, Nick noted. ‘That’s me,’ he replied.

‘I need to speak to you.’

Beston paused for a moment. Nick was suddenly aware of how young he looked. His skin was fresh and unlined, and his eyes clear. Same as Sarah, he thought to himself in a flash. She’s too young to be out there by herself. She needs looking after.