Justin Richards - Sharp Shot

“Nice one, team,” Chance told them. “Just two small loose ends to tie up, then we’re home and dry.”

“And what are those?” Darrow asked.

“First,” Chance told him, “there’s the small matter of the team photograph. And second—I want to know what you’ve got in your rucksack.”

Darrow met Chance’s gaze. For a moment he said nothing. Then he looked away. “Souvenir. I’ll show you when it gets light.”

The plan was to cross the border into East Araby, a small country to the south east of Iraq, also bordering Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. By daybreak, Chance’s team was within a hundred and fifty kilometres of the border. In the Jeep, it would take only a few more hours.

They heard the plane long before they saw it.

“One of ours?” Darrow wondered.

“Doubt it,” said Halford. “We need to find some cover.”

“Camouflage netting?” McCain suggested.

Chance shook his head. “We have to assume they’re looking for us. We’ll need better cover than that.” He had the map open on his knees. “Head slightly to the left, over that rise. There should be the remains of a village.”

A small black shape skimmed the horizon over to their right. The plane turned slowly, heading back towards them.

“Has it seen us?” Darrow wondered.

“Not yet,” Chance shouted above the roar of the Jeep as Halford accelerated. “Might see the sand we’re kicking up, but we’ll have to risk that.”

McCain had his binoculars out. “Iraqi air force markings. It’s a Foxbat.”

Chance swore. The MiG25—codenamed Foxbat by NATO forces—was a powerful aircraft. It was fast enough to outrun an air-to-air missile, but the good news was that it didn’t carry ground-attack weapons. It was used for reconnaissance and interception only. Banking steeply, it disappeared into the distance.

Ahead of them were the remains of the village. It was more like a small town—derelict stone-built structures disappearing into the distance. Most of the roofs had collapsed, some buildings reduced to just a couple of broken walls.

“You could get lost in there for a week,” said McCain.

Halford steered the Jeep rapidly between several low walls, then over a bank of sand and into the enclosed remains of a house. The Jeep jolted to a stop, and immediately Darrow and Chance were unrolling the camouflage netting and dragging it over the vehicle.

All four of them were out of the building in moments, taking shelter in the shadow of a section of wall thirty metres away. If the Foxbat returned, it was more likely to spot the Jeep. If it did, they wanted to be far away from it.

“Can’t hear anything,” said McCain. “Maybe we’re OK?”

“Give it half an hour,” Chance decided. “It may have spotted us and called in support. We don’t want to be caught in the open if it comes back, especially if he’s got company.”

“Time for the team photo then,” Halford decided. He took out a disposable camera. The camera had come from a supermarket, but Halford had removed the cardboard casing that gave away its origins. It was plain, functional, black plastic.

“Right,” said Halford, “the challenge is to work out how we take a picture with us all in. There’s no timer.”

McCain sighed and took the camera. “Why do I always have to be the practical one? I need a small stone about…this big.” He held his thumb and forefinger in a small circle.

There was no shortage of stones about the right size —just big enough to cover the camera’s shutter button. McCain balanced the camera on a low section of wall that protruded from a higher wall. Then he put heavy stones round the camera to hold it in place. He wedged another on the top, jutting out over the lens, but leaving the shutter button with the small stone on it exposed.

“Right, assume your positions.”

“Is that it?” Halford asked, laughing. “Now what?”

“Yeah,” said Darrow, “what’s the big deal. Someone still needs to press the shutter.”

“I think that’s the idea,” said Chance. “Right, Ferdy?”

McCain was grinning. “Exactly right. Get ready. The camera’s lined up with this bit of wall here, so let’s all stand in front of it. Oh, and we’ll need some pebbles. About this big, I should think.” He picked up a stone the size of an egg and weighed it in his hand. “Yes, that should do it. I’ll go first.”

“What are you going to do?” Darrow asked.

“Bung rocks at it. Ready?”

They could see at once what McCain meant when he tossed the egg-sized stone. He lobbed it up on to higher section of wall. The stone rattled down the wall, bouncing on to the stones holding the camera steady.

“Missed,” said McCain. “Who’s going next?”

The third pebble did it. Halford arced it into the air above the wall just as first McCain and then Darrow had done. The pebble rattled down, and this time struck the small stone on the shutter button. The weight of the impact was enough to take the picture.

“Nice one, Ferdy,” said Chance as they all watched him retrieve the camera and wind on the film. “Now then, let’s see what Mark’s got in his backpack, shall we?”

Reluctantly, Darrow opened his rucksack and lifted out his ‘souvenir’. It was a statue made from a dark brown material, like terracotta, about half a metre tall and maybe fifteen centimetres wide. It was in the shape of a lion standing upright on its back legs, and it was obviously old; the features and details had worn away, the material scuffed and scratched and flaking. Chance remembered that one of the scientists had been carrying it—he must have run into Darrow soon after.

“Blimey, it’s heavy,” McCain commented, lifting it up to get a better look. “What d’you want this for?”

“It just took my fancy.” Darrow lifted the statue carefully out of McCain’s hands and pushed it back into his rucksack. “No big deal.”

“Reckon it’s valuable?” Halford asked.

“I’ll let you know.”

Chance was looking grim. “You shouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “We didn’t come here to steal artefacts, whether they’re valuable or not.”

“Oh come on, John,” said Darrow, suddenly angry. “We were going to blow it up. I found it in the admin block when I was planting the explosives. It just seemed a shame to destroy it. So where’s the harm? I mean, they’re not going to come and ask for it back, are they?”

“Actually,” said Halford, “I think they might.” He pointed across the mass of broken buildings and collapsed walls.

Two small black shapes were streaking rapidly towards them across the sky. As they watched, one of the black shapes flashed, as if it had caught the sun.

“Incoming!” yelled McCain.

Moments later, a building just thirty metres away exploded in a fireball. Heavy machine gun fire strafed across the sandy ground.

The four men hurled themselves into the cover of the wall. There was another explosion, even closer. A wall exploded under the impact of the rocket, stone and debris flying through the air. Darrow gave a cry as a lump of rock struck him across the side of the head, hurling him sideways.

Then as suddenly as it had started, the attack stopped. The two aircraft sped onwards, into the distance.

“Soon as they turn, they’ll be back,” said Halford.

Chance was beside the prone body of Darrow. “Out cold. He’s losing blood, and I think his collar bone’s broken. We have to get him to the Jeep.”

“That could be a problem,” said McCain, kneeling beside them. He pointed across to the burning remains of the building that had taken the first rocket hit. “That’s the Jeep. Maybe they saw its heat signature.”

“Then we have to walk. We’ll take it in turns to carry Mark. We move out as soon as it’s safe.”