Andy McNab - Recoil

They were getting good-quality mealie-meal down their necks, scooping it up gleefully with their fingers from clean plastic plates, not out of rusty old tin cans. And they couldn't get over the women fussing around and pouring them clear fresh water from the plastic bottles they normally used for the porters.

Sunday's head tilted as he took a few more gulps. Our eyes met, and I got a fleeting, covered-face smile from him. I gave him one back and winked.

Lex was on his finals. The An12 shimmered in the heat haze as its wheels dropped, and the wings moved left and right as he lined up.

We'd only been here a couple of hours, and us three hadn't yet done a thing for ourselves. As always, it was weapons and kit first. We didn't have to worry about weapons. The AKs were back in Sam's tent; we weren't going to need them for a while. The only kit that needed looking after was the little fuckers at our feet. And now that they had mashed-up corn all round their mouths and bloated bellies we could get ourselves sorted out.

It had taken us two days to get back. We'd rigged up slings from strips of blankets and fixed them to each end of a cot. Two men on, one man navigating, we'd carried Tim and the boy the whole thirty-five Ks back, like removals men with a piano. Silky had strapped up her ankle with strips of blanket and got on with herding the kids behind us. They, too, had strips of blanket. She got each of them to hold on to the one in front, like a herd of baby elephants gripping each other's tails.

Lex's 23mms and Crucial's RPGs had done their worst. When we crested the lip of the valley, we found the dead ground littered with bodies.

Lex soon exhausted his fuel reserves at the strip as he kept constant vigil overhead, giving us early warning and helping us navigate. He never deserted us, and only flew to Kenya to refuel and restock with more drums once we were safely over the border.

Nuka, the mine, the LRA now felt a whole world away.

I couldn't believe the sense of satisfaction I felt as I looked down on the tops of the eight heads. It sounded like a pig trough down there, but it was one of the happiest noises I'd ever heard. The little fuckers might now have something resembling a life to look forward to. I couldn't remember ever feeling so good. I didn't want to risk Sam seeing the look on my face, though. I'd never hear the last of it.

I glanced as casually as possible towards the two of them. 'What now for you guys?'

Sam took a long breath. 'If Standish is alive, he'll be back. Then it'll be time for us to move on.' He shrugged. 'I guess we'll set up somewhere else, maybe a little further east, away from the border. But the work won't end, Nick. We'll not give up. We'll do anything to stop these kids being used by Standish and his kind.' He nodded down at the munching crew at our feet. 'Someone's got to.'

Crucial fixed me with a stare. 'And what about you, Nick? You staying, man? You can't deny it – these little guys have got to you, haven't they?'

A huge plume of red dust kicked up at the rear of the strip as Lex started to bounce his way down the runway, and saved me having to answer.

We turned and started to head from the church to the cam net. As we crossed the strip, one of the kids called, 'Mr Nick! Mr Nick!'

I turned to see Sunday beaming all over his mealie-meal face. 'Mr Nick! Mr Nick!'

'That's right, mate, Mr Nick. See you around!'

I waved and got one in return, and all of a sudden the Chuckle Brothers were at it as well, then they all joined in, laughing and giggling.

I didn't know what to do so I just turned and carried on walking, my hand still raised and waving.

Smoke fought its way through the cam net as Jan sizzled steaks the size of dustbin lids on the brai.

Lex taxied along the strip towards us, laden with new drums of Kenyan aviation fuel, as the dogs and shanty kids ran alongside.

'I'm not staying. Sorry.' I put an arm round Sam's shoulder, and would have done the same to Crucial if he hadn't been about ten feet taller than me. I gripped his arm instead. 'Unfinished business. I promised myself back at the mine, and I won't be happy until I've done it. Anyway, you know I can't hang around.' I nodded in the direction of Tim and Silky. 'This is their place now. Not mine.'

Lex turned the aircraft about two hundred metres away, ready to taxi back down the strip for take-off.

Sam put a brave face on it. 'Sorry to hear that, Nick. I think it would have been good for you here.' He thumped my chest with his hand. 'Remember what I said?'

I nodded.

'Any time you feel the need to come back, eh?'

Lex's engines closed down as we ducked under the cam net. Tim and the boy were lying on the tables, looking a whole lot better. Silky had washed them down and redressed their wounds. Same principle as we operated by: only now was she sorting herself out, by the entrance to Sam's tent.

Tim was finishing off his sat-phone conversation with the Lugano office. Etienne would arrange medical care for them both, once we'd got them to Cape Town later that evening.

The Evian was cold. I pulled bottles out of the fridge and passed them round.

Jan threw the first lot of dark red meat on to the table. Crucial passed it round with fingers and thumbs because it was still so hot.

The aircraft's rear ramp was starting to wind its way down. The two wounded, Silky and I would be in that thing and leaving within half an hour.

Tim closed down the sat phone. 'Are you staying?'

'Nah – other plans.'

'Still Australia?'

'Yep.'

There was a gap in the conversation that we didn't know how to fill.

Well, we did – but neither of us wanted to go that route.

Lex broke the moment as he loped off the aircraft with his golf bag. 'Sam! You owe me two games – one for the ten big ones, one for the fuel and ammo. Get out here and be a man!'

Sam stood up with a half-eaten dustbin lid in his hands. 'Can't it wait? Why do you want to embarrass yourself in front of all these people?'

Lex dropped the bag into the dust. 'Because you won't be coming back to Erinvale, will you? All this is finished.' He unzipped one of the side pockets and scooped out dozens of golf balls. 'I want to make sure I collect.'

He leaned on one of his clubs, his bleached teeth shining as brightly as his reflecting gigs. 'Come on, I haven't all day, man. A bet's a bet.'

Sam beckoned Jan, who took his steak and put it back on the brai, then went out on to the strip with a rusty can.

Sam walked into the sun, bent down and selected a club. Fuck knows what sort: golf was even higher than cricket and rugby on the list of games I didn't have a clue about. He did a couple of practice swings. 'Ten balls each for each bet, OK?'

Lex stood back. 'You're on.'

Jan placed the can upright in the sand, about thirty metres away.

Lex pointed his club at the aircraft and gave Crucial a shout. 'Let's get everybody onboard. This won't take long.'

Crucial moved off to organize the barrow boys, who were more used to loading and unloading boxes of weapons. He'd had them on stand-by to collect Tim and the boy, and wheel them on to the aircraft.

Sam kicked off, swung off, whatever it was called, first. Nearest one to the can seemed to be the objective, but you wouldn't have guessed it by watching him. He looked as good as I would have been.

The first ball headed for DRC, and his game didn't get any better.

'Shame, Sammy boy.' Lex roared with laughter as Sam's third ball landed on the cam net. 'You were robbed!'

Lex seemed much more the part as he practised his swing. It looked like I was going to be writing a very big cheque – or was this all about Sam taking the debt off my hands? I couldn't remember. It seemed like a lifetime ago.