Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Mongolia

Banks arrived first, out of breath, over the prone body of the professor and laid down covering fire into the sand, not knowing if he was hitting anything, not caring, only hoping that the jolt and blue flash wasn’t in his immediate future. Wiggins arrived seconds later and began to fire downwards on the other side of the prone man, while Davies bent to check for vital signs.

The sands stopped roiling and seething under them. Banks’ magazine, then Wiggins’ ran dry and they stood, gunfire still echoing in their ears, on a suddenly, deafeningly quiet plain.

“No heartbeat,” Davies shouted and immediately started CPR on the downed man.

Banks looked back to where Hynd and Reid stood with the camel and Wilkins, then looked north to the derelict station. They were about equidistant. He slammed a new magazine into his rifle, still aiming at the sand, knowing that another attack could come at any moment.

We’re stranded in no-man’s land.

Davies continued to work frantically on the downed man. He had torn the professor’s shirt open and was pumping, double-handed, at his chest, alternating with blowing down his throat, trying for a kick-start.

“Davies? We cannae hang about here in open ground for long. Is he a goner?” Wiggins asked.

At that same moment, Gillings coughed and his eyes opened but they fluttered wildly and were unfocused. All color seemed to have drained from his normally ruddy features and he was breathing too fast, hyperventilating.

“He’s tachycardic,” Davies said. “We need to get him lying down somewhere safe where I can work on him properly.”

“Okay,” Banks said, pointing towards the derelict service station. “You two get him up and get him into yon shack over there. I’ll cover your arses. If anything but us moves, put it down hard and fast.”

He waved to Hynd to bring the others over and stood where he was while the two soldiers carried Gillings away.

The sarge and the others began to come towards him.

It had been all Donnie could do not to rush out onto the sand to go to the professor’s aid but one look from Sergeant Hynd was enough to freeze him to the spot. He could only watch as gunfire echoed across the desert, then the black private worked on the prone man. Donnie hardly noticed that he was talking to himself, willing Gillings to live.

“Come on, Prof, come back.”

He almost let out a cheer when Davies and Wiggins lifted the professor between them and hurried away to the north. Gillings wasn’t quite managing to walk but he was at least trying.

He’s alive.

He saw Banks wave them forward.

“Our turn,” Sergeant Hynd said. “If I say run, you leg it, understand?”

Donnie gave him a mock salute, then took the camel’s reins from Wilkins’ hands.

“I’ll lead. Looks as if this old lady still needs some coaxing,” he said.

The camel was trembling again, its eyes wild, and Donnie thought that if he hadn’t had quite so strong a hold on the reins, it might have bolted already. He stroked the ridge between nostrils and eyes and spoke soothing, nonsense words.

“What are we now, the fucking camel whisperer?” Hynd asked. “Get a move on, lad, the captain’s out there all on his lonesome.”

At first, he thought the camel wasn’t going to comply but a ‘Giddyup’ from Wilkins and a hard tug on the reins got it moving, albeit slowly, as if it was testing the ground with every step.

The two hundred yards across to the captain’s position seemed to take forever but there had been no signs of seething sands and although he looked more than ready for it, Banks hadn’t had to use his weapon in the interim.

“Take your bloody time, why don’t you?” Banks said to Hynd as they approached and the sergeant laughed.

“We stopped over for a pie and a pint on the way. I had yours. It was braw.”

“The professor,” Donnie asked, “is he okay?”

He was looking over to where Wiggins and Davies were already entering the biggest of the derelict buildings, Gillings hanging between their shoulders.

“He’s alive,” Banks said and Donnie heard the implied words that weren’t spoken.

For now.

Banks led them away from what was now no more than a slight depression in the sand, with pieces of almost meaty-looking flesh scattered in a circle around it. The flesh had started to harden in the sand, looking more like melted candle-wax than anything that had so recently been alive.

They moved at pace across the sand, all of them watchful for an attack. The camel tugged and fought Donnie every inch of the way but at least it was moving in the right direction. As they approached the derelict building, Wiggins came to the doorway to wave them forward.

“Come on in,” the corporal shouted. “It’s got mod cons.”

As if in reply, an area of ground five yards to their left rose up in a mound and a mouth, three feet wide, came up, trailing sand as it tasted the air. Hynd blew the worm away with volley fire.

The camel decided at that moment that it had definitely had enough and set off at a run, tearing the reins from Donnie’s hands and dumping Wilkins unceremoniously on the ground in its wake. It headed west, keeping to the rocky track and was soon lost in the murk and drizzle despite all of Donnie’s shouted entreaties to try to get it to stop.

“The professor’s not going to be happy,” he said. “Yon bugger was carrying all of his clothes.”

“That’s the least of your man’s worries,” Corporal Wiggins said and ushered them all into the gloom inside the shack.

Their first impressions had been right—the place had obviously been a filling station in a previous incarnation but it looked to have been abandoned at least a decade previously. Wiggins checked the ancient manual till on the long counter.

“Empty. It’s just not my lucky week.”

The interior of the shack was in disrepair. A fine layer of sand and dust lay over everything, the roof sagged low, just above head height near the doorway and open to the sky at the northern end and there were only broken shards of glass in any of the windows. Donnie only had eyes for the center of the room, where Davies had the professor lying on a table and was once again performing CPR.

“He’s stuttering and chugging like a Fiat Uno with a low battery,” the private said when he had to stop to take a breath. “Sarge, can you take over here for a sec? I’ve got to get some adrenaline into him.”

Hynd continued to pound at Gillings’ chest, while Davies rummaged in his bag and came out with a needle that looked more fit for a veterinarian’s work than a field medic. He exposed the professor’s chest, felt for the sternum, then plunged the needle in like he was stabbing with a knife. Gillings’ whole body jerked as if he’d taken another jolt of electricity, his eyes went wide and he coughed, loud like a bark.

Davies had to stop the professor from sitting up too quickly. The older man had no color on his cheeks and his eyes seemed like dark pools ringed with gray shadow but at least he was awake and breathing.

“He’s back,” Davies said.

But for how long? Donnie thought.

It started to rain even heavier outside, the pattering drops sounding like a drummer pounding out a beat on the ceiling of the rotting shack.

“Hunker down, lads,” Banks said. “We’ll keep an eye on Professor Gillings here for a while until Davies tells us he’s safe to move and wait this weather out. It’s chow time anyway. Wiggo, get the stove going.” He turned to Donnie. “Any chance you could fetch yon camel back?”

Donnie laughed.