Десмонд Бэгли - The Spoilers

Follet jumped him and put the toe of his boot into his throat with great force. He scooped up the fallen rifle and fired as he ran, rapidly but with no great accuracy. But the unexpected spray of bullets was enough to make the two opposing men duck and run for cover, and the way was clear.

Behind them all was turmoil as the frantic camels plunged and bucked and more of them tugged free of their tethers to run down the valley. Warren thought afterwards that this was the one thing that saved them; none of the Kurds near them could get a clear shot in the confusion and their bullets went wild. He reached the nearest Land-Rover, snatched open the door, and hurled himself inside.

As he twisted the ignition key he saw the other Land — Rover take off with spinning wheels with Tozier still running next to it. Tozier jumped as Follet pushed open the door and bullets sent dust spurting in fountains around where his ankles had been. But he was in the passenger seat, and Warren ground gears as he followed, hoping to God that Follet remembered the direction of the gorge.

He glanced in the wing mirror and saw a big truck wheel in line behind. That would be Metcalfe doing his best to bottle up the gorge. The movable windscreen of the truck was wide open and he saw the tanned blur of Metcalfe’s face and the glint of white teeth — the man was actually laughing. In that brief glimpse he also saw that there was something wrong with the truck; it trailed a thick cloud of billowing black smoke which coiled in greasy clouds and drifted across the valley behind. Then there were a couple of quick thumps somewhere at the back of the Land-Rover and abruptly the wing-mirror shivered into fragments.

Warren revved the engine fiercely and plunged after Follet as he entered the gorge. He hazily remembered that there was a sharp bend about a hundred yards along, but it came sooner than he expected and he had to slam on anchors in a hurry to prevent himself running into Follet.

From behind there came a rending crash and he turned his head and looked back. Metcalfe had swerved and driven the truck into the wall of the gorge, jamming the entrance completely. Already he was climbing out through the open windscreen while the oily black smoke coming from the truck eddied in thick clouds. It occurred to Warren that this was deliberate — that Metcalfe had provided a smokescreen to cover their sudden dash to the gorge.

Metcalfe ran up brandishing a sub-machine-gun. He waved to Follet in the front vehicle, and shouted. ‘Get going!’ Then he jumped in alongside Warren, and said breathlessly, ‘There’s going to be a hell of a bang any moment now — that truck’s full of mortar bombs and it’s burning merrily.’

Follet moved off and Warren followed, and even as they turned the corner the first explosion came from the burning truck, accompanied by what sounded like an infantry regiment doing a rapid-fire exercise. ‘I burst open a few cases of small arms ammunition and scattered those in, too,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Getting past that truck will be bloody dangerous for the next half hour.’

Warren found his hands trembling uncontrollably on the wheel and he tried desperately to steady them as he drove along the twisting gorge. He said, ‘Are we likely to meet any opposition along here?’

‘Too bloody right,’ said Metcalfe, and cocked the submachine-gun. He saw the microphone and picked it up. ‘Does this thing work? Is it on net?’

‘It’ll work if it’s switched on. I don’t know if Andy will be listening, though.’

‘He will,’ said Metcalfe with confidence, and snapped switches. ‘He’s too old a hand at this game to neglect his communications.’ He lifted the microphone to his lips. ‘Hello, Andy; can you hear me? Over.’

‘I hear you, Tom,’ said Tozier metallically. ‘You timed everything very well. Over.’

‘All part of the service,’ said Metcalfe. ‘There may be some opposition. Fahrwaz has an outpost at the other end of the gorge. Not more’n a dozen men, but they’ve got a machine-gun. Any suggestions? Over.’

There was a muffled exclamation from the loudspeaker and Tozier said, ‘How long have we got? Over.’

‘About twenty minutes. Half an hour at most. Over.’

The loudspeaker hummed and there was a faint crackle. ‘Pull us up short and out of sight.’ said Tozier. ‘I think we can handle it. Out.’

Metcalfe replaced the microphone on its bracket. ‘Andy’s a good man,’ he said dispassionately. ‘He’d better be bloody good this time, though.’ He twisted the satchel he was wearing to where he could unfasten it, then jerked his thumb to the rear. ‘I’m going back there; I won’t be long.’

He climbed into the back of the Land-Rover and Warren, flipping an eye up to the interior mirror, saw his arm move in a rhythmic movement as though throwing something repeatedly. As he came back into his seat he tossed the empty satchel from the window.

‘What were you throwing out back there?’ asked Warren curiously.

‘Caltrops — tyre-busters,’ said Metcalfe with a grin. ‘Whichever way they land there’s always one sharp point sticking up. The Kurds use a lot of them when they’re being chased by the Iraqi armoured car patrols. I see no reason why they shouldn’t be on the receiving end for once.’

Warren’s hands were steadier. This calm, matter-of-fact man was a soothing influence. He slowed for another sharp bend, and said, ‘How did you cause all that racket back in the valley?’

‘Started a fire in an ammunition dump,’ said Metcalfe cheerily. ‘And laid a time-fuse in the mortar bomb store. I also tied strings to a hell of a lot of grenades and tied the other end to the truck — when I moved off it pulled out the firing pins and they started popping off. Old Fahrwaz may still have the guns I brought, but he won’t have much left to shoot out of them.’

More explosions sounded distantly behind them, the noise deadened by the rock walls of the gorge, and Metcalfe grinned contentedly. Warren said, ‘How much further to go?’

‘We’re about half way.’ He picked up the microphone and rested it on his lap. Presently he raised it to his lips and said, ‘We’re just about there, Andy. Stop round the next corner. Over.’

‘Okay, Tom. Out.’

Warren eased to a halt as Follet slowed. Metcalfe jumped out and joined Tozier, who asked, ‘What’s the situation?’

Metcalfe nodded up the road. ‘The gorge ends just round that corner. There’s a small rocky hill — what we’d call a kopje in South Africa — which commands the entrance. Our boys are on top of there.’

‘How far from this spot?’

Metcalfe cocked his head on one side. ‘About four hundred yards.’ He pointed upwards. ‘If you climb up there you’ll be able to see it.’

Tozier looked up, then nodded abruptly and turned to Warren. ‘Nick, you’ll be helping Johnny. The first thing you do is to get out the spare wheel. And do it quietly — no metallic clinks.’

Warren frowned. ‘The spare wheel...’ But Tozier had already walked away and was talking to Follet. Warren shrugged and got out the wheel brace to unfasten the nuts which held the spare wheel in place.

Metcalfe and Tozier began to climb the side of the gorge, and Follet came across to help Warren. The spare wheel came loose and Follet rolled it along the ground as though he was looking for a special place to put it. He laid it down carefully, then went back to Warren. ‘Get out the jack,’ he said, and surprised Warren by diving under the Land-Rover with a spanner clutched in his hand.

Warren found the jack and laid it on the ground. Follet said in a muffled voice, ‘Give me a hand with this,’ so Warren dropped to his knees and saw Follet busily engaged in removing the exhaust silencer. When he took hold of it he found it surprisingly heavy and only slightly warm to the touch. They dragged it clear and Follet unfastened a couple of nuts and slid out the baffles which formed an integrated unit. He nodded towards the wheel. ‘Take it over there,’ he said, and picked up the jack and a toolbox.