Andy McNab - Agressor

Bastard didn't get it. I guessed I couldn't blame him for feeling sorry for himself, but now wasn't the time or the place. I laid a hand on each of his shoulder blades and pushed.

He was grumbling big-time, but it wasn't helping him much. Bumping your gums doesn't get you to where you need to be. The only way you're going to do that is by putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as you can, and if it's not fast enough, then someone needs to come behind you with a cattle prod.

It was like being back in the infantry; I had been pushing or pulling flaking bodies since I was a sixteen-year-old boy soldier, trying to keep the slower guys up with the squad. It was all part of the deal. You moved as fast as the slowest man, but you had to make him as fast as you could. You carried his weapon, carried his kit, encouraged him, took the piss out of him – fucking well slung him over your shoulder and carried him if need be, not that I was in any hurry to try that with Bastard.

We'd been going for about an hour, and covered maybe four or five Ks, when Charlie limped off the road and heaved himself under a low fir tree. He lay back on the grass and stretched out his leg.

Bastard and I closed up on him.

'Thought I'd better hang around for you two lardasses.' He took a series of short, painful breaths.

Bastard couldn't even marshal the strength to move off the road; he just fell to his knees instead, and slid towards Charlie in the mud. It was probably the furthest he'd ever walked in his life, certainly in monsoon conditions and dressed in a blazer and loafers. His head slumped forward, displaying a very nice crocodile-clipshaped bruise.

I left him where he was and went over to the tree.

Charlie was resting the sole of his boot against the trunk, in order to ease his damaged ankle.

I collapsed alongside him. I wasn't going to ask him if he was OK. If the time approached when he couldn't take any more, he'd give me plenty of warning.

Charlie grunted. 'We'd better step up the pace or we'll be stuck out here all night. If he could tab as energetically as he gobs off, we'd be there by now.' His face was lit briefly by one of his stupid grins. 'He's a bit like you, lad; he can talk the talk, but he certainly can't walk the walk.' He liked it so much he shouted a repeat for Bastard's benefit.

Bastard looked up, but either couldn't or didn't want to hear.

I wasn't looking forward to trying to keep Bastard on the move all night. If he couldn't shift his arse in daylight, he'd be ten times worse after dark. People like him become uncoordinated; they stumble, they injure themselves.

Bastard looked the part inside a Pod with a coffee machine at his elbow and a wad of tobacco in his hip pocket, but that was about it. He'd boast a good night out, but I didn't want to have to nurse him through one.

I doubted he'd ever gone more than a couple of hours between doughnuts.

I checked Baby-G, which was still chugging along after its dip in the river. It was 3.27, which meant only about another four hours before dark. At this rate, it wouldn't be enough.

Charlie moved his foot off the trunk of the tree and onto my shoulder. Bastard watched, and maybe it made him feel even more like Nobby Nomates. He sounded pretty sorry for himself. 'How much fucking longer in this goddam shit country, man? How far we gotta go?'

'What's the matter, Big Boy?' Charlie watched him fiddle with his soaking wet loafers. 'Never been cold, wet and hungry before?'

I broke into a smile. 'Cold and wet, maybe. Hungry? I don't think so!'

Charlie almost choked with laughter.

'You fucks think we'll get there before dark?' Bastard scowled at us as he wiped the rain from his face. 'I don't want to be out in this shit all night long, that's for sure. And don't even think about leaving me out here. Nothing's changed. You fucks can't get out of here without me. Don't forget it.'

Charlie grimaced as his foot made contact with the ground again. 'Don't fret, Big Boy. We'll push your fat arse all the way to Turkey if we have to.'

He hobbled off up the road. I couldn't see his face, but I knew it would be contorting with pain with every step.

I'd have offered myself as a crutch, but he would only have fucked me off. He knew as well as I did that he wasn't the priority right now, whatever Hazel might think.

I pushed and shoved Bastard for another hour. He was slowing down, without a doubt. It couldn't have been easy shifting that bulk of his; I could almost hear those big wobbly thighs chafing together with every step he took.

We were still following the pipeline scar to the left of the road. The rain was a solid grey curtain.

As we rounded a sweeping bend into high ground, I saw a splash of white about 150 metres ahead of us. I wiped the rain from my eyes and looked again. It was the arse end of a van, static beside the road.

Bastard and I drew level with Charlie.

Charlie rested his arm on my shoulder to take the weight off his injury. 'Looks like our luck's in, lad.'

Bastard began sounding off as if he'd spotted an empty cab at theatre time and we were about to let it go. 'Hey, what're you fucks waiting for?' He shambled off up the road, trying desperately to make his legs move as fast as his instinct for self-preservation.

As we got closer, the white blur became a Mercedes van, up to its axles in the mud. Both sets of rear wheels were spinning, but the driver was only burying them deeper.

I dodged the spray coming off the tyres and made my way round the passenger side. I saw two shapes in the front seats, but they were too intent on working the steering wheel and gear-stick to notice me.

I tapped on the glass.

The figure in the passenger seat spun around, clearly startled. I could see her dark eyes, as wide as saucers, through the rain-blurred window. She stared at me for several seconds then switched her gaze to Charlie and Bastard as they closed up behind me. I could understand her concern. We were in the middle of nowhere, in a torrential storm; we must have looked as though we'd just crawled out of a primeval swamp.

I unzipped my jacket, lifted it up, and turned from side to side. 'No weapons,' I mouthed. 'We… are… unarmed.'

I let my jacket fall as the others followed suit, but kept my hands up.

She wound the window down about six inches, but her expression made it clear that she still wasn't exactly delighted to see us.

'It's OK, it's OK…' I smiled. 'Speak English?'

She turned to the driver and said something in rapid-fire Paperclip. He took his foot off the gas and bent forward to see round her. He had a very short, just grown-out crew cut, and hadn't shaved for a day or two.

I kept my smile so wide my face was starting to hurt. 'English? Speak… English?'

The girl faced me again, her brow still furrowed. 'Who are you?' The accent was Eastern European, but with an American TV twang.

I spoke very slowly. 'Our car… It got hit…' I mimed a collision. 'The mud…'

The driver leaned forward again. 'We understand.'

Bastard appeared at my shoulder and pushed me aside. He pulled his accreditation from his soaked leather wallet and thrust it through the gap. 'Borjomi,' he barked. 'Take us to Borjomi.'

If that was his idea of a charm offensive, our tab was far from over.

The woman took the ID.

Bastard didn't waste any time. 'We wanna get to Borjomi. See that ID? That says you take us.'

The two inside the Mercedes had another exchange in Paperclip, glancing at each of us in turn. I never liked not knowing what was being said in situations like this, particularly when I appeared to be the subject of the conversation, and the outlook didn't sound good.

Eventually she shrugged. 'Sure… It's not so far. No more than thirty minutes. We're going there ourselves, if we can get out of this mess.'