Ed Macy - Apache

They stopped talking when they saw Geordie. They looked at him. He looked at them. Each was frozen to the spot; each as shocked as the other .

That’s when he realised… We’re in the wrong place. This is the north side of the fort, not the west. Jesus fucking Christ .

The Taliban fighters knew that if the British soldiers came for them , they wouldn’t come alone. There would be a hundred at least, like the last attack. They hesitated, giving Geordie a few crucial seconds. He spun around and took off back in the direction he’d come, pumping his thigh muscles as hard as he could .

‘Go-go-go…Wrong-way-wrong-way…’ he jabbered .

Robinson heard the next word very clearly. ‘TALIBAN! ’

He spun round too and sprinted for all he was worth .

Seeing the red face of his approaching RSM, Robinson screamed: ‘Run sir. Run the other way, the other way…’

The Taliban opened fire, and bullets began to kick into the dirt around their feet. Geordie did an impression of the Roadrunner on speed. He overtook Robinson within a few metres. Seconds later he overtook Hearn, too. Then the wall erupted .

Billy had no choice but to sit tight .

His job was to keep the front of the aircraft clear for their return. It was easier said than done; he could only fire the cannon at point-blank range in front of him and up to ninety degrees to his right. If the Taliban came through the hole in the wall, he wouldn’t be able to touch them .

The world’s most devastating fighting machine was now a sitting duck. Apaches weren’t built to be shot at on the ground. From below, fine. Same level, you had a problem .

The Kevlar plating stopped at his waist, and they could hit him in the chest with a pop gun now. An RPG through the window and he was history. Even a brick into the tail rotor would have put the aircraft out of action. How long would it take for the Taliban to know he was there?

Billy soon got his answer. Just over twenty seconds after Geordie and the marines exited the field, two AK47s appeared at the top of the wall, 100 degrees to the right of him, and began blatting away blindly on fully automatic. Billy stamped on his floor pressel .

‘Ugly Five Zero has got Taliban doing a Beirut unload from the wall sixty metres to my right. Put some fire down now.’

Nick responded instantly. ‘Ugly Five Two copies. Stand by…’

FOG was flying Nick low on a northerly axis over the treeline to the east, scanning the fort for any movement .

‘My gun.’ FOG slaved the cannon with a flick of his right thumb, aligned the crosshair and loosed off a twenty-round burst .

‘Engaging with cannon, Billy,’ he bellowed. ‘Watch my strikes.’

Great chunks of adobe flew off a long building in the centre of the compound. FOG moved his eyeball swiftly left and shifted the impact zone. A second wave ploughed into the neighbouring courtyard, shredding paving stones and slicing along the wall Billy was being engaged from .

FOG spotted movement inside the far end of it. ‘Talibs escaping; firing.’ His third burst blasted away the section of wall alongside where Geordie was overtaking RSM Hearn …

Geordie was blown a metre sideways by the pressure wave four feet above his head .

More explosions, some on the other side of the wall, others on the canal bank to the right of him. Red-hot shrapnel whipped across the path, centimetres behind him, through a waist-high, metre-long shell hole. Geordie’s ears rang and his mouth filled with grit .

Jesus, what the hell was that? An RPG? Ten RPGs?

Sound travels at 343 metres per second. So it took Geordie just over three seconds to hear the pounding of the Apache cannon a kilometre away. Shit, the guys are firing on us .

‘What the fuck is that?’ screamed Hearn .

‘Just fucking run,’ Geordie shouted .

Geordie didn’t know it was possible to run faster than they already were. But he did it then .

‘Delta Hotel, FOG. Delta Hotel,’ Billy said. ‘Good shooting mate. Keep it up.’

Billy was doing mental cartwheels. He checked the clock: 10:40 and fifty-five seconds. Jesus, almost two-and-a-half minutes on the ground. Time up. They needed to get out of there now. The next Beirut unload from God knew which direction couldn’t be far off. The Taliban would have given their eye teeth to get their hands on one of the feared mosquitoes. And now they had two of them, gift wrapped, and delivered to their door .

Where the hell was Geordie? He should have got back by now. He’d been out there for a minute and forty seconds. Maybe they needed a hand. Maybe he should lift and start putting some fire down… But if he moved, he’d brown the place out again, and Geordie and the marines wouldn’t be able to see where he was. He couldn’t leave them behind, no matter what .

What if they’ve been hit, and can’t get back? They hadn’t discussed Actions On for that. Billy tried to flush the disaster scenario from his mind. Of course they were coming back .

Lifting and firing was going to be his last resort if ten Taliban came running round the corner. He wrapped his hand around the collective’s grip. It was locked. Geordie must have done it on his way out. He could only take-off in an emergency and fly by wire. Shit. Please don’t let anyone come round the corner. At least Carl and Ed were in the right place. He stamped on the pressel again .

‘ Ed, it’s taking too long. What’s going on? Is Ford strapped onto you yet ?’

‘ Billy, it’s Carl. Ed’s outside. They’re having a really tough job moving him .’

‘ There are four of them …’

‘ No there aren’t .’

‘ What’s Ed doing out of the aircraft? ’

‘ That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There aren’t four of them; just our two marines and Ed. Where are your marines? ’

‘ Can’t you see them? ’

‘ Negative .’

‘ What about Geordie? Is Geordie not there either? ’

‘ He’s with you, isn’t he? ’

‘ Negative .’

Silence .

‘ Fuck .’

Geordie swept past the entrance to the field where his Apache was as their third minute on the ground began. He turned to check Robinson and Hearn were still following him and snatched a quick glance at the aircraft, eighty metres away through the haze. He couldn’t make out his co-pilot. He hoped to God he hadn’t been hit .

Geordie was in pain now. He’d run more than 500 metres at a full sprint and his lungs were full of smoke. His throat rasped as he tried to suck in more oxygen. The battle still raged around him, but at least nobody was shooting directly at him now .

The southern end of the west wall was just ten metres away. A left turn and he’d hook up with Mathew and the two other marines. Then they could all get the hell out of there .

Geordie rounded the corner to see Ed and Rigg heaving Ford towards the Apache and Fraser-Perry in position to give covering fire. Muzzle flashes sparked up at the far end of the field. Bullets tore up the furrows, their points of impact careering ever closer .

Rigg and Mathew went down like a sack of shit. Ed went down right after him. Geordie had got there too late .