Andy McNab - DropZone

Where the hell is Sam? he wondered. Just where the hell is he? It felt as though he and Johnny had been fighting for hours, though he knew it could only have been minutes. Desperation gripped him and he kicked out, bucking his body like he was being electrocuted. Mr Blond rolled to the right and Ethan could finally breathe again. He dragged himself to his feet and tried to catch his breath as the man started to pull himself to his knees. Blood was running from his ears and eyes and dripping over his shirt. He looked up at Ethan, snarled. Mr Black was turning as well now, and Ethan could see that Johnny was still out for the count.

Ethan knew this was it. If he let Mr Blond hit him, he was a dead man. And, probably, so was Johnny. So he kicked Mr Blond in the groin with his left foot. Then again. The man doubled over.

Ethan didn’t think twice: he sent another boot in, and launched the guy backwards, his head slamming into the ground. Ethan stumbled forwards, ready to go in again if need be, but it was clear Mr Blond wouldn’t be getting up for a while. He was out cold.

Ethan spat blood and looked over at Johnny. He was relieved to see him moving, albeit slowly. Then he looked up at Johnny’s attacker. The man was as big as Mr Blond, if not bigger. And he was smiling. He looked at Ethan and beckoned him forward with a wave of the hand.

Ethan was knackered. He didn’t know if he’d survive another fight. But what choice did he have? He raised his fists and advanced. Then something hammered into his leg. It came out of nowhere, catching him hard across the side of his left knee. Pain shot through him and he dropped like liquid, screaming. He rolled around on the floor, breaths short, taking the pain, holding his knee. The leg was dead, numb; he couldn’t stand up. Then a voice broke the moment.

‘Looking for me, Rookie?’

Ethan glanced up to see Jake staring down at him. Hanging from his left hand was a thin plank of wood. He was doing his best to be gangster cool, with a cigarette dangling limply from the corner of his mouth. A long black coat added to the effect, though it didn’t suit him.

‘Why are you doing this?’ spat Ethan, trying to sit up. ‘What’s the point of ruining Sam’s kit? And those gorillas of yours nearly killed Johnny! Are you mad?’

Jake strolled over, rested a foot on Ethan’s shoulder and pushed.

Ethan fell back, still dazed from the pain in his knee. Jake leaned forward, and Ethan felt his lungs being compressed; wanted to throw up. He looked at the other two men. Mr Blond was beginning to move; Mr Black was standing over Johnny, who was also stirring now. Every time Johnny tried to get up, the goon simply pushed him back to the ground.

‘I thought you might turn up if I called,’ said Jake, drawing hard on his cigarette before blowing the smoke down into Ethan’s face. ‘Thought it would add to the fun if you saw what I’d done. Didn’t expect Johnny to come too. Bit of a bonus, that. And now I get to give you a kicking as well as ruin Sam’s life. Fucking excellent.’

Ethan struggled against Jake’s foot, fighting for breath. ‘It’s not my fault Sam threw you off the team,’ he panted. ‘It’s not anyone’s fault but yours.’

Jake raised the plank, menace in his eyes. ‘Want some more of this, do you?’ But before he could bring it down, Ethan saw his chance and went for it. Grabbing Jake’s foot, he twisted hard, turning with it as he went. Jake went down, the plank and the cigarette spinning off into the dark.

Ethan saw Mr Blond watching – though luckily still too dazed to do much. Mr Black wheeled round to see what was going on – and that was enough to allow Johnny to clamber to his feet. Now the man was torn between helping Jake and stopping Johnny.

As Jake struggled up onto his knees, Ethan leaped to his feet and smashed in with a kick, hard and fast, aiming for Jake’s stomach. Jake squealed and toppled backwards, coughing in pain. Ethan didn’t give him a chance to recover. As he tried to get up, Ethan kicked him back down. Jake wasn’t really fighting any more, but Ethan was beyond caring. He was locked in the moment now. It was all that mattered: he couldn’t hear or see properly, his body was in pain, there was blood in his mouth – and all he wanted to do was keep raining in the kicks and punches, take all his anger out on Jake till there was nothing left. Nothing at all.

But somewhere at the back of his mind a warning sounded: he knew he had to back off – stop before he lost control completely. He staggered backwards, aware now of Jake’s groans. The other two men were now trying to deal with Johnny, who was just about managing to stay out of their reach.

Then Ethan spotted the plank Jake had used against him. Calmly he walked over, picked it up, came back.

Jake looked up at him. ‘No… don’t-’

Ethan broke the plank across his knee with a crack that signalled the end. Enough.

Only apparently Mr Blond wasn’t following the same script, because as Ethan looked down at Jake, he felt huge arms wrap around him from behind. The stink of tobacco breath caught in his nostrils and stubble rasped against the back of his neck as he was lifted bodily off the ground.

Suddenly the arms released him, but Ethan wasn’t given a chance to escape. Two fists pounded into the sides of his neck, dropping him to the ground, where he landed next to Jake.

Ethan turned to see the man spit and smile, crack his knuckles, flex his neck. Then he reached down and picked up Ethan as though he weighed no more than a child. Ethan struggled, but this time it was useless. Mr Blond had him tight, arms pinned.

Jake pushed himself to his feet and wiped blood from his mouth. He held one half of the plank in his hand.

‘Screw Sam and screw you!’ he hissed, and he launched the end of the plank at Ethan’s stomach.

The blow made Ethan retch. He folded up, pain racing through his body, coughed, tasted bile in his throat, felt sick, scared.

Mr Blond refused to let him fall, just held him tight for more of the same.

Jake came in with another blow from the plank. It hurt just as bad. Ethan heard Jake laugh. Then he puked. It stung his throat, and he could see blood in it.

‘Nice.’ Jake laughed as Mr Blond dropped Ethan face down in his own vomit.

Ethan stayed where he was. He knew he was deep in shit and that there was fuck all he could do about it. Moments later, Johnny was thrown to the ground next to him. Johnny looked at him, attempted a smile, but said nothing. Then Ethan saw Jake and his goons looming above them and knew what was coming next.

The screeching of tyres split the night and finally ended the fight. Ethan turned his head to see what was going on and saw headlights burst round the corner of the hangar like fireworks. Gravel and dirt scattered as Sam pulled his Defender up sharp, kicked the door open and hurled himself towards the boys like a raging bull.

‘Another time, Rookie!’ said Jake, and he and the two goons bolted.

Sam skidded to the ground. ‘Ethan? Johnny? You OK?’

Ethan sat up, coughed, shook his head to clear it, then nodded.

‘We’ll live,’ said Johnny.

‘Well, you look like you’ve been shat out of a bear’s arse,’ said Sam. He turned back to Ethan. ‘What’s Jake done?’

Ethan pointed at the open doors to the hangar. ‘They’ve killed the kit, Sam,’ he said. ‘Ruined it.’

Sam stood, ran over to the doors, turned back, face hard. ‘Can you walk?’

In answer, Ethan and Johnny pulled themselves to their feet.

‘What state are they in?’ asked Sam. ‘I saw Jake was bleeding. What about the other two?’

‘Not great,’ said Johnny, stretching his back. ‘Same as us.’

‘Right,’ commanded Sam. ‘Defender. Now.’