Andy McNab: Recoil

Annabel opened her mouth to stick up for her boss, then wisely had second thoughts as Gary stormed back into the building.

He'd been gone no more than five minutes when I heard the rattle of small-arms fire and the distant sound of two RPGs cracking off. Seconds later they smashed into the side of the house.

The pressure waves hurled me to the ground. My ears were still ringing as I staggered to my feet in a cloud of sand and mortar dust.

It was impossible to tell where they'd hit.

There was silence for the next two or three seconds while everyone came to their senses, then Davy screamed, 'Man down! Man down!' from above us.

I grabbed a torch and a bag of field dressings from the footwell of the wagon and ran back into the house. The dust was just settling. I flicked the beam round the room. The royal sisters, and what looked like four of the soldiers, lay motionless on the floor, their shattered limbs at crazy angles. The walls were splattered with blood. Margaret had a neat hole in her chest where the shaped charge from one of the grenades had punched its way through her, on its way to fucking up everyone else.

I barged through the confusion and screams. I was sweating big-time as I climbed the spiral staircase on to the roof.

Gary was lying on his back, his blood-drenched face pale and shiny in the moonlight. He wasn't moving and his eyes were wide open. I leaned over him, knowing immediately that there was nothing I could do. He was totalled. A round had hit him in the throat and smashed its way out through his neck, taking the vertebrae and his spinal column with it. He must have dropped like liquid.

I caught a glimpse of Standish: he wasn't trying too hard to conceal his delight at being the only one left alive.

'What the fuck?' Davy shoved him backwards. 'You think that's funny, yeah?'

Standish lost his smirk and his eyes blazed. 'What do you think you're doing? I'm in command here.'

Davy was about to give him the good news with his fist and size nines when Sam jumped between them. 'Stop! Save it for that lot out there.'

A loud metallic scrape announced the opening of the main gates. The general screamed at the backs of his remaining soldiers as they legged it into the darkness.

I grabbed my AK and got into a fire position, aiming at the shadows as they melted into the darkness. If these guys were changing sides, they needed to be stopped now. I readied myself to shoot, but my blood-soaked hands slipped on the stock. 'We dropping them?'

Standish sparked up from behind. His time had come. 'Yes, do it. Take them.'

I might have been the new boy, but I knew who was now the real boss around here. 'Sam?'

By now everybody had their weapon ready to go, and everybody waited.

Standish wasn't impressed. I'd just been crossed off his Christmas-card list. 'I'm giving an order. I want bodies out there. Get some rounds down!'

'No – leave 'em.' Sam took control. 'We won't get them all now, anyway. Hold fire.'

The last of the bodies disappeared into the darkness, heading towards the wagon lights that were scattered around the building, just out of our range, and the fires that flickered near them.

As Standish stomped off towards the stairs, a couple of shots cracked off here and there but they weren't aimed at us or the mutineers. The rebels out there had probably chewed so much ghat, they were shooting each other to see if it hurt or not.

01:28 hours Most of us were on the roof, staring at the vehicle lights and fires out there in the darkness. It was only a question of time before they attacked again.

Standish was down on the Renault, talking to the High Commission and the Third Fleet, and anyone else who'd listen, by the sound of it. Annabel stuck to him like glue.

As far as we knew – or could gather from what Standish was saying – the Americans were still steaming towards the Zaire coast. There was still no clearance for fighter jets, and still no word on the helis. I got the feeling that a little backtracking was the order of the day.

This job had been going on once a month and the cargo hadn't been a problem as long as nobody knew about it. Even after the attack, everything was OK because we were going to nip this little bit of drama in the bud. But now that fast jets and heli support were being requested, things had gone a little quiet.

Sam was taking the silence in his stride. 'So what's new?'

The general wasn't so patient. He yelled into the darkness from time to time and, judging by his body language, if he ever got his hands on the guys who'd run away tonight, he'd rip their hearts out with his bare hands.

Davy was on stag next to Gary, who was still lying where he'd dropped. His face was covered with a sheet of blood-soaked gingham.

Sam had been staring at the dark pool that had leaked from under his head, and still glistened in the moonlight. He finally tapped me on the shoulder. 'Come with me.'

We crossed the roof and headed down the spiral staircase.

'What's going on?'

'Don't you want to know why Gary's history?'

It was pitch black. The further we went down the stairs, the stronger the smell from the bodies. It wasn't the usual butcher's-shop smell. It was too hot and sticky for that. It reminded me of dog food.

The small wooden crates in the middle of the hall were split but still intact. 'Grab one, Nick. I'll get the door.'

I did as I was told and carried it out into the moonlight. The box was about half the weight of the link I'd been carrying earlier – surprisingly heavy for its size.

A small zinc plate on the side read: London Good Delivery.

I didn't know what to make of that. It wasn't in London yet, and there certainly wasn't anything good about this delivery. But Sam knew. 'It's gold. London Good Delivery bars are the world trading standard. That's what those guys out there are here for.' He picked up one of the brick-sized bars. 'Twenty-seven pounds each, these boys weigh. That's a big wad we got here, in anybody's language.'

'I don't give a shit. Gary and the others in the house died for this?'

Sam saw the expression on my face. 'Let's go ask her, shall we?'

I followed him over to the Renault. Sam held the gold bar almost under Annabel's nose. 'All this, just so Uncle Mo ships a few more million to Switzerland? Politically sensitive? I must tell that to the mother of Gary's kids. And what about your two friends? Do they have husbands? Brothers? Sisters? I'm sure it'll be a comfort.'

'Sam, I-'

'Giving aid with one hand and taking back with the other, that's all this is.' He gave her the sort of look he'd given me when I'd used 'fuck' and 'New Testament' in the same sentence. 'How do you people sleep at night?'

She didn't reply. Tears were rolling down her face. She was young; this job was just a little rung on a big career ladder. What was she supposed to do? Refuse on moral grounds or something?

Standish had been silent up to now, but he'd obviously heard enough. Good: she needed defending. 'Shut up and stop crying. I can't stand whinging women. And you, Sergeant -' he glared at Sam '- just get on with your job. Do you think this didn't come right from the top? It's important.'

Sam clenched his jaw. 'Important for you, maybe, but not for me. I'm a soldier.'

For a moment, it looked like Sam was going to deck him, but he never got the chance. Davy was screaming from the roof: 'Stand to!'

Sam and I ran towards the house as Davy got everyone sparked up. 'Here we go, stand to, stand to!'

Sam paused to shout back at Standish. 'Get the comms inside and keep out of my way!'

We raced up the stairs and on to the roof. I could see four sets of headlamps coming our way, then five, six, maybe more.