Andy McNab - Recoil

I stood there feeling very pissed off with her as these people stumbled past. Why had she put herself in so much danger, and made me come out here to drag her back? What the fuck had been going through her mind? And why had she just left like that? Weren't we supposed to be together?

And why was I feeling the way I did? I was starting to get myself really revved up, when surely I should have been relieved that I'd found her…

Gunfire cracked off again. It was still on the other side of the river, but definitely closer; probably the poor shits crossing the bridge were getting zapped. It made me cut away from the other stuff.

Fuck her, fuck the situation.

I moved off the track, scrambling through the foliage, trying to get to the front. Being aggressive about this was the only thing that would make me feel better – and it was the only way I'd keep them pushing to the mine. If the price I had to pay for showing her this side of me was going to be that I was history, then fine. At least she'd be alive to bin me.

It took more than two hours for the first wave to stumble to the valley entrance. The really sick and injured trailed way behind, but at least it had stopped raining on them. I'd moved up to the head of the column in case there was a reception committee. Who knew who was guarding the perimeter, and what their orders were?

As we came into the mouth of the valley, the high ground on both sides of us was a hive of activity. The patrol was setting up defensive positions, horseshoe-shaped sangars built with piles of red rock. They wouldn't stop anything big, like an RPG or 7.62 from a GPMG, but they'd make the guys feel a bit safer, and they could throw a shelter sheet over themselves to try to keep dry while they sat on stag for however long it took. Along with the squaddies already at the mine, the defenders probably numbered thirty or forty. Where were Standish and his lot? They should have been here by now.

I had moved the first two hundred metres into the valley. The main encampment was ahead of me on the knoll, still another two hundred away. The squaddies stopped sangar-building and looked down on us from both flanks, as if they weren't too sure what was going on.

'Nick! Nick! Nick!'

The shout came from up to my half-right. Crucial was slipping and sliding down the hill towards me. He fell on his arse but kept his arm in the air, away from trouble. The injury would-n't have taken the strain.

By the time he got to the bottom he looked like one of the miners, orange mud in his hair, more mud in his eyebrows. Even the cross round his neck and his new arm dressing were covered in it. The only things that were still their natural colour were the whites of his eyes.

'What happened? Why so long?' He glanced behind me. 'Where's the woman? Where is she?'

'Back there somewhere, with the rest of this lot. The kids, too. They were with the sick guys.'

Crucial looked as happy as I was pissed off. 'Standish isn't going to like it.'

'I know, I know – but fuck him. This lot'll be slaughtered if they don't come in. Where do I dump them?'

He peered beyond me at the human snake, trying to work out where he wanted them.

'Where's Sam?'

He nodded back at the tents.

'I'll be a minute or two, mate.'

I turned and moved back down towards the river to find Silky. My legs felt heavy. I'd been tabbing since yesterday afternoon. I needed rest, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon. This was turning into the Mercy Tab rather than Flight, that was for sure.

I got to the river and leaned against one of the rocks, watching the line of people shuffling along the track. I could see her, one side covered with mud where she must have fallen. Her hair was orange with the stuff.

I waited for her to come to me. I was too knackered to do anything else, and in a fair amount of pain. The friction burns felt like they were bleeding now. At least when it was raining the water kept everything rinsed and cool, but now I was covered with sweat and grime and my shirt was rasping against the rash, like working parts rubbing together without gun oil.

What made me feel even worse was that I could see Tim now, coming out of a dip way behind her, bringing up the stragglers. He got me thinking again. I couldn't help myself. Stefan was right. There was so much I didn't know about her. Maybe she did run away from things if they didn't work out the way she wanted them to. Maybe we didn't know each other that well. She's flapping about me turning up with an AK, and there's me getting pissed off that she's not throwing herself into my arms and chatting excitedly about the fun times.

Fuck it. I didn't want to think about that any more. We had a job to do.

I felt weird as she approached. I didn't want to say anything personal to her. It was suddenly like she was a work colleague rather than someone I'd been sleeping with. 'I've got the first lot in and everything's OK.' I paused. 'You OK?' As if the answer was going to be: 'Why yes, and you?'

She didn't look up, didn't make any sort of personal connection as she over-concentrated on helping a woman along the track. 'Thanks, I'm fine.'

I stayed with her, not holding her, not helping her, just being with her as we turned into the valley and entered the sangar protection zone.

We made our way to the others, who were being directed by Crucial into a small re-entrant on the right-hand side of the valley. People had settled into dugouts and even some of the mine shafts.

'Silky, try to get some water down you. You've got to keep hydrated. I'll see you in a minute, OK?'

I wasn't worried about the sick and injured. They were as safe as they would ever be. I was only worried about her hydration levels. She was going to need so much fluid down her it would be coming out of her ears. She didn't know it yet, but we had a busy day ahead. If she thought she was staying in this shit-hole and playing Mother Teresa, she had another think coming.

As I emerged from the re-entrant and turned towards the tents, Tim came down the valley carrying a baby in each arm, their wailing mother close behind him. I watched him with them, completely competent, completely at ease. If I'd been one of these poor little fuckers, I'd have wanted him close by. It got me thinking about the two of them, or the possibility of the two of them. I didn't want to ask the question, but I wanted to know the answer.

I cut away again. I still had a job to do, I kept telling myself, as I headed for the tents. Miners surrounded by empty fertilizer bags and the lime-green and yellow jerry-cans of diesel were mixing ANFO in oil drums like they were stirring huge cauldrons of porridge and the three bears were arriving any minute. They had to finish before it rained again. The mix had to be kept dry: one drop of water, it lost its detonation capability. And they didn't have much time to get the stuff back into the bags and into position before every mad LRA fuck within five hundred miles steamed into the valley.

I got to the bottom of the knoll the tents were sited on and followed the mud track up towards them. Lumps of rock had been positioned at intervals to make progress less slippery, but they didn't help much.

The HQ was well placed. It commanded an elevated view into the valley as well as out to the river four hundred away and the treeline another thirty or so beyond it.

I scanned Sam's defences. The canny old Jock hadn't lost his touch. He might be putting his spiritual salvation in the hands of the Good Lord, but he was clearly in no hurry to put the man in the big white beard to the test. This was textbook stuff.

If you want to defend a position, you don't just shove a big front door on it like they do in the movies. However dense a line of squaddies you put in the mouth of the valley, you'd be overrun in no time. Instead, you position your defence in depth across the entire area; that way you not only get protection from view and from incoming fire, but cover the valley entrance and the high ground above. If any of the sangars was overrun, others could keep the firefight going. They were everywhere.