Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Mongolia

It seemed to go on forever but wasn’t more than thirty seconds later when he heard, faintly, the captain call out again.

“Save them,” Banks shouted and the firing stuttered to a halt, leaving Donnie with ringing ears and a burnt smell in mouth and nose.

He saw the captain step out the main door between Wiggins and Davies and his curiosity getting the better of him, got out from under the table and went to stand at Wiggins’ back, looking out over the small concourse.

The wet rocks were strewn with pieces of pink, oozing mush that looked like someone had spilled a load of jellied confectionery then scattered thin, white needles among the remnants. Out in the gloom, the swathes of blue were slowly drifting away southward, soon lost in the murk and drizzle.

“Well, we know more than we did before,” Wiggins said as he put a fresh magazine in his rifle.

“What’s that?” Donnie asked.

“They’ve definitely not got a backbone,” the corporal answered. “And they fuck off quickly when we shoot at them, which is always a bonus.”

It took several minutes for the ringing in Donnie’s ears to fade and for his hearing to lose a strange, echoing, muffled quality that was distinctly unpleasant. He lit a smoke, having to fight a tremble in his fingers, then joined Banks in looking out the north window.

“Were they actually attacking us?” Donnie asked.

Banks shook his head.

“No, at least I don’t think so. They were just taking advantage of the wet ground to try to move across the rock. We gave them cause to think again, that’s all.”

“Think? I doubt there’s a lot of that going on.”

“And yet, they know enough to back off under fire. That’s not mindless behavior. Not completely.”

“They’re nothing but mouths and arses from what I can see.”

“Aye.” Banks laughed. “Much like Wiggo and yet, also like Wiggo, they’ve got the good sense to keep their heads down when some fucker is shooting at them. I wouldn’t rule out rudimentary behavior patterns among them just yet, Doctor. If I can teach Wiggo to make and fetch coffee, then anything’s possible.”

Sergeant Hynd spoke up from the left side of the window.

“Looks like the rain’s easing up, Cap,” he said.

Donnie looked out to see that some of the gloom was lifting, the weather improving from the north where the sky was definitely lighter than it had been minutes earlier. As the view brightened, the blue washes and swathes that showed where the worms congregated faded and dimmed. By the time the squad was ready to move out again, the sky was clearing fast, only wispy clouds above them and steam rising from the rocky concourse of the shack as both the rainwater and the remnants of the shot worms evaporated in the heat.

Gillings pulled himself up from under the table and although he still looked far too pale to Donnie’s eyes, he announced that he was okay to walk.

“The sooner we get going, the sooner you’ll get to retrieving my finds,” he said to Banks.

Donnie knew already, just from observing the captain, that the soldier had hardly given their gear back at the base a second thought and wouldn’t until much later, when he was sure he had got everyone to safety. But trying to explain that to the professor at this stage would only chance a temper tantrum—and in Gillings’ current condition, he might not survive one of those.

“Are you sure you’re ready for a walk?” Banks asked.

Donnie interrupted before Gillings could reply.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Captain. Me and Private Davies will make sure he’s okay.”

Banks turned his attention to young Wilkins.

“How about you, lad? This is likely to be hard going for you.”

Wilkins looked pained just to be standing up but he gave Banks a thumbs-up and a smile.

“As long as we don’t have to do a few miles double-time, I’ll be fine.”

Despite the lad’s protestations, Banks had the young private redistribute the contents of his pack among the other men so that all he carried was the camp stove in his pack and his weapon slung over his shoulder. Donnie noted that the other soldiers had no complaint at having to carry extra; indeed, they seemed keen to take on the weight if it would help the lad. He couldn’t help but make comparisons between the cutthroat every damned day competition of the University hierarchy and the casual camaraderie between these men. He’d always thought that the rigid discipline of soldiering wasn’t for him; but here he was, seeing something he was missing, something he envied.

The captain moved them out heading not east as Donnie had expected but west, deeper into the desert but keeping to the rocky track.

“Captain Banks,” he said, “I told you, there’s nowt out there but old mining installations and I don’t even know how far they might be.”

“I’m not heading for them,” Banks replied. “I’m just looking for better ground heading north.”

For the first hour, there was no sign that they would find any—there was only more of the same sandy wastes to the north. Although they could see the larger outcrop of rock on the horizon that they’d spotted earlier, there appeared to be no way to get to it without crossing open sand.

The walking was proving hard on both the professor and young Wilkins, and Banks was forced to call a rest stop. By Donnie’s reckoning, they’d only covered three miles before they were called to a halt. The lack of speed seemed to have brought the captain to a decision.

“Davies, Sarge, you stay here with the others,” Banks said. “Let them rest up a bit longer. Wiggo and I will go on ahead and have a shufti, see if it’s worth keeping on this track. I’ll fire two shots if it’s okay for you to come up to join us—the sound should travel clear enough in this thin air.”

The professor slumped alarmingly as if the act of stopping had sapped the last of his will to stay upright and it needed both Donnie and Private Davies to catch him and lower him gently to the ground. His face looked more gray than pale now, his eyes sunk in dark shadows, and when Davies gave him some water, Gillings had trouble getting his hand to stop shaking and got more of the water on his shirt than in his mouth. Wilkins wasn’t in much better shape although when Hynd asked how the lad was doing, he got the customary smile and thumbs-up in reply.

“We can’t go too far like this,” Donnie said to the sergeant. “Certainly not twenty miles.”

“The captain will come up with something. He always does,” Hynd said and once again, Donnie envied that simple faith in a superior.

Banks and Wiggins walked side by side, heading west along the rocky track. It stretched away in an almost straight line ahead of them to the horizon where it swam in a heat haze. There was still no sign of the escaped camel.

“Bugger,” Wiggins said. “I was hoping for a dram from the professor’s bottle.”

“You and me both, Wiggo,” Banks replied. “But keep your eyes off the track and look north—we need a route that’ll take us at least to yon outcrop over there.”

“We’re going to have to go slow in any case,” Wiggins replied, “what with the lad’s gammy leg and the prof’s dodgy ticker. I cannae see anybody coming along the road here to give us a lift.”

Banks nodded.

“Aye, and the sat-phone’s still out of action. I guess we’re in for another night out here, whatever happens. Let’s just hope the rain keeps away, eh?”

The skies had continued to clear, even in the north, the direction from which all the rain seemed to come. The expanses of sand on either side of the track were only stirred by the light breeze that ran north to south. There was no vegetation of any kind here, only sand and wind-scratched rock—and not enough of that to provide them passage north.