Mark Abernethy: Double back

‘Look at this, McQueen,’ whispered Jim.

Following the American’s finger, Mac saw for the first time how close they were to the unmarked helicopters that would be doing the spraying. They were not thirty metres away, the large tanks obvious in their load space and the big spray booms attached to the undercarriage making them look like giant insects.

‘That true about your ability with aircraft?’ said Jim to Bongo. ‘That extend to Black Hawks?’

‘Not specifically,’ said Bongo, eyes scanning the ground in front of him.

‘Helicopters generally?’ asked Jim.

‘Not lately,’ said Bongo. ‘I say we aim for the hangars, get behind them so we’re shielded from the sentry posts at the gate, run around the length of the hangars, come out at the end. Take that last helo, okay?’

‘Sounds good,’ said Mac.

‘Can you fly us out of here?’ asked Jim, annoyed.

‘I have the ability, yes,’ said Bongo. ‘But we need some explosives.’

Searching the stockade, they found a locked room and opened it with the confiscated keys. It was a small armoury and, hitting the lights, Mac and Bongo found a box of phosphorous grenades – perfect for sabotage – and loaded them into a small canvas carry bag.

Flagging them through like a traffic warden, Bongo brought up the rear as they ran silently behind the first hangar.

Pausing for breath in the lee of the steel-clad building, Mac looked back at the camp. No one had stirred. They ran the length of the hangars, jumping over piles of airfield junk, and arrived at the far end as the sun touched the horizon. Jessica stayed close to Mac – she was scared but composed, noticed Mac.

‘Now or never,’ said Bongo. ‘Guard changes soon.’

Panting for breath, they scanned for unfriendlies.

‘Want to check the helo?’ asked Mac, wondering if Bongo needed a key or something.

‘We’re all in the helo,’ snarled Bongo. ‘Or none of us are. No one gets left behind. I need Jim in the front with me. McQueen, you’re in the back, with Tommy and Jessica. You guys are the shooters, okay?’

Tommy nodded as Bongo handed over his M16 and, falling in behind the Filipino, they stealthed to the last Black Hawk.

The side door creaked slightly as Mac pulled it back and realised the rear load space was almost entirely filled with a tank of the bio-weapon. Moving forward, he slid back the jump-seat door that sat between the pilot’s hatch and the main door. Helping Jessica up into the jump-seat, he shut the small door and squeezed into the small area in front of the tank, and then pulled Tommy up alongside.

Mac and Tommy checked their weapons as Bongo and Jim clambered into their places in the cockpit.

Tension rising, Mac looked Tommy in the eye. ‘Done this before?’

‘No,’ said Tommy, gulping down the stress. ‘But I was a baseball player in Brooklyn – I’m prepped for anything.’

‘Just wait for the action, make sure you get a good shoulder behind your rifle, and don’t get out of the aircraft, okay?’ asked Mac.

‘Sure,’ said Tommy.

The sounds of Bongo powering up the avionics and muttering his instrument checks to Jim were muted but audible as Mac crouched in the back of the helo, watching through the glass of the side door to clock when the camp was alerted to their escape.

Unlatching the door, Mac made a small gap to make it faster to remount the helo after his sabotage run was over. The situation seemed more hopeless the longer they waited. The sun was lighting the camp and Mac doubted that he’d have the time to grenade nine helicopters and leap into the one on the end of the line before being shot. It was long odds.

‘Okay,’ said Bongo, raising his voice from the cockpit. ‘When you throw the first grenade, I’ll spark the engine – then we see what we’re made of, right?’

Slinging the canvas bag over one shoulder and the M16 over the other, Mac made to leap out of the Black Hawk when a hand grabbed him.

Looking in Jessica’s eye, Mac felt almost breathless, as if he could float above the ground.

‘My note,’ said Jessica. ‘The love note?’

‘Yeah,’ said Mac, aware of Tommy being able to hear.

You did read it, didn’t you? I left it on your bag.’

‘Um, well,’ said Mac, his mind elsewhere.

‘You didn’t read it,’ said Jessica, her face dropping. ‘Oh my God.’

‘I didn’t, I couldn’t,’ said Mac, trailing off as whining sounds started in the Black Hawk’s electrical systems.

‘It said that I think your parents did a really good job with you, McQueen, and if I ever have kids, I’d love to know their secret.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mac, but no sound came out. She kissed him and Mac leapt off the rear load space onto the lime dust of the runway, and ran through the spooky light of early morning to the helo closest to the camp.

Opening the pilot’s door as he caught his breath, he fished out a grenade, pulled the pin, dumped it on the pilot’s seat and ran for the next helo, forty metres away, where he repeated the action. As he ran for the third helo, the first grenade detonated and ripped apart the flight deck of the helo. Trying to keep his composure as the grenades flashed and sent concussion waves and debris along the runway, Mac dumped his sixth grenade, just as the first shots were fired from a military police jeep that accelerated away from the sentry post at the gate. Turning, Mac watched the last helo’s rotors spinning faster and faster and heard the telltale whining of the turbine spinning to its peak RPM. Running around the back of the seventh helo, he dumped a grenade into the rear load space beside the bio-weapon tank. As he ran the bullets hailed into the helo and the hangar as the belt-fed machine-gun on the jeep opened up.

Mac crossed the open ground to the eighth helo, bringing the M16 up to his shoulder and waiting for the jeep to come parallel before popping the driver with a three-shot burst and then the machine-gunner. Careening out of control, the vehicle swerved out into the runway as the third soldier tried to grab the wheel.

Grabbing his eighth grenade, Mac threw it into the cockpit as the grenade in the seventh helo tore the front section apart in a shuddering burst of white heat. Falling to the ground as he escaped the blast, Mac struggled to crawl around the corner of the ninth and final helo as the previous helo now blew up. Gasping for breath, he realised his left leg was bleeding – he’d been hit by a piece of flying debris. Needing the last helo for cover, Mac limped to its nose, looked out to the camp, saw a silver LandCruiser approaching him at high speed, and pulled back to the load space. Behind him, he could hear Tommy and Jim screaming at him from the powered-up Black Hawk.

Sliding back the large door of the ninth helo, Mac fished for the grenade, primed it and threw it in front of the tank.

His left calf muscle now feeling like it was on fire, Mac turned and tried to run but resigned himself to not making Bongo’s helicopter. He couldn’t fend off the approaching shooters in the LandCruiser and also run for his ride. He’d have to make a choice. Feeling hopeless, yet also strangely powerful, Mac ran in a limp towards the hangar rather than Bongo’s helo. Stopping behind a wall, Mac looked around and fired two bursts of three-shot at the Cruiser, which veered into another hangar as its windscreen shattered.

Turning to look at Jim, who gestured for Mac to get in the helo, Mac waved them away and turned back to face the shooters who now stealthed towards Mac – not Indonesian Kopassus, but Saffas and Aussies from Berger’s crew.

The window smashed above Jim’s head and he ducked, and Bongo pulled the Black Hawk into the air as the steel cladding on the wall Mac was hiding behind was torn apart by bullets. Putting out more rounds at a soldier who ran around the flames from a helo, Mac dived behind a stack of oil drums as the final grenade made the Black Hawk rupture from the inside out.