‘Hey, Pinsker, where d’ya keep the night goggles?’
‘Box in the rear, sir.’
‘What fuckin’ box?’
‘Dykins knows, sir. He packed ’em.’
‘Ibrahim, what you sitting on? Move your ass. That’s government property, bud.’
‘Pardon! Pardon!’
‘Only kiddin’, man. Yup, this is it.’
Zappa unclipped the box and withdrew a set of night goggles with adjustable sights. ‘Holy Shit! Here, Ashe, take a look!’
About fifty metres ahead were two trucks packed with a crowd of Arabs standing up in the back, waving and chanting.
‘Can you hear that, Ashe? What they sayin’?’
‘It’s a welcome party, Vinny.’
Ibrahim interjected. ‘Welcome party, yes, sir. But welcome for Ansar al-Sunna – not US army.’
Richmond pulled himself up. ‘Give me a look.’
‘You sure you’re up to this, Major?’
‘Don’t be an arse. Give me the goggles.’ He focused his attention on the trucks. ‘OK, chaps. What you have here is a very mixed bunch of illegal immigrants. I’ll bet it’s the usual collection of Moroccans, Yemenis, Saudis, Syrians. They’ll have been brought over the Syrian border on al-Qaeda one-way tickets. I presume the guys we encountered back there were their welcoming committee, ready to tuck them into warm beds in Mosul, before a trip to suicide’s paradise.’
‘Yes, Toby. Though they might not all be aware of that yet. You can tell from that unreal, happy look.’
‘Every insurance salesman’s dream client.’
‘Shit!’
‘Shit it is. I reckon they think we’re the welcoming committee.’
Zappa clicked shut the trigger chamber of the 240. ‘They’ll get some fuckin’ welcome, man!’
‘How many do you see, Simon?’
‘Two trucks. About twenty in each.’
‘Armed?’
Richmond strained to see the greenish images through the goggles. ‘Not yet.’
‘Four against forty?’
‘Element of surprise?’
‘Simon, what if we shut lights down, vanish into the night, no questions asked?’
Richmond sounded personally affronted. ‘And leave forty suicide bombers, Toby? What d’you think we’re here for? Just one of these guys can kill a hundred innocent civilians – women and children.’
‘Cool it, Major. Dr Toby ain’t chicken. You owe your fuckin’ life to this guy, and so do I. So I say we leave it to him to decide what we do next.’
Ashe didn’t need to think. ‘I don’t like suicide bombers, Vinny. Against my religion.’
Corporal Pinsker butted in. ‘Trucks have started up, sir. Coming our way.’
‘OK. I say we come real close, Major, duck down fast, and then let ’em have it!’
‘I second that, Vinny.’
‘Why, thank you, Major. You get the M249. Can you handle it?’
‘Fuck off, Zap. I’m OK with my left.’
‘Toby, you feed me the ammo. Keep it up and steady, right? When we’re within fifty feet, I’ll signal to Pinsker to—’
‘Sir!’
‘Corporal Pinsker?’
‘I got this viewfinder thing here, sir. And I’d say they’re wavin’ AK-47s. And… they’re heading straight for us, sir.’
‘Right, Pinsker. Lights out. We’ll race it. If they don’t know who we are, they’ll—’
‘And if they do?’
‘We do our duty, Corporal!’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Skirting operation. Sweep round in a crescent. Give us a good view. Carry on.’
‘Yes, sir!’
The Humvee revved up towards the advancing trucks. Suddenly, the trucks switched their headlights off and skidded to a halt. Amid a flurry of shouting, the men jumped off the trucks.
‘Pull right! Pinsker! Right!’
The guns of the wannabe martyrs opened up on the Humvee. Zappa hit back, straight into the gunsmoke. Unable to load efficiently, the 249 jammed. Richmond grabbed the M4 and manoeuvred a fresh mag into position. As the Humvee skidded round the trucks, Richmond added wide bursts to the power of the 240.
‘That’s it, Pinsker! Round we go!’
A stray bullet hit a rear tyre. Collapsing instantly, the Humvee dived into an angled skid that tore a gash in the earth. ‘Damn! Damn! Damn! We lost a goddamn wheel!’
‘Engine off, Pinsker!’
Distant cries grew louder through the earth and billowing sand. Zappa spread some warning rounds in the direction of the voices.
‘You there, Ashe?’
‘I want to do some shooting, Vinny.’
‘Fix the belt on the 249. Major, can you help me with the ammo – left-handed? Just remember, Ashe, these fuckers are suicides.’
‘Just remember, Vinny, they’re deluded. Truth will prevail!’
‘You better believe it!’
Ashe unclipped the firing chamber and reset the magazine of the M249. ‘That’s done it. I’m ready.’
‘Then fire the bastard!’
‘Ibrahim! You take the major’s rifle. Only fire at the enemy!’
‘I never use gun.’
‘First time for everything, Ibrahim. It might save your life!’
Bullets thudded into the earth in front of the stricken Humvee.
‘That was close.’
‘We must have hit a dozen.’
‘Sure?’
‘Why not?’
‘Sir!’
‘Pinsker!’
‘OK if I get my weapon, sir?’
‘Permission granted.’
‘Join the party, Corporal. We ain’t goin’ nowhere.’
‘What’s that?’
‘What?’
‘Those lights?’
‘Not…’
‘It’s those fuckers from Tel Afar. There’s more of ’em. How we doin’ for ammo?’
‘Enough, but…’
Ashe looked at Zappa; Zappa looked at Richmond. Richmond smiled. A shared moment of cold reality: they knew. This was it; their luck had just run out.
The headlights got closer and closer as AK-47 fire spat out of the blackness.
‘What’s that sound?’
‘What fuckin’ sound?’
‘That sound. Listen!’
A whirlwind roar whipped its way around the Humvee – an ancient sound, elemental, pounding. A voice from history on the heels of memory.
‘Weird fuckin’ noise, man.’
‘Sounds like—’
‘Guns. Thunder.’
Richmond coughed. ‘Haven’t you ever heard horses before? I think our luck’s in.’
In the distance, the jihadists started screaming out. They’d heard nothing about this in the madrasahs or on the videos. Ashe stared along the horizon. The black silhouettes of dozens of horsemen bobbed across the landline like demented shadow-puppets. The roaring force broke into two arcs: one hundred warriors on each flank.
‘I don’t fuckin’ believe it! It’s the Light Brigade.’
‘No, Vinny. It’s the Brigade of Light!’
Ashe’s eyes stretched wider and wider. He had never seen anything like it. In seconds, the horsemen had overwhelmed the jihadists with snorting, fiery horsepower – a vision from history, terrifying the enemy with memories long forgotten, buried in the mythic subconscious of their parents and grandparents.
Horseman after horseman swung their British SA80 semiautomatics like scythes before alien corn, letting loose a tornado of firepower that shattered and scattered the screaming forces of the killer fanatics.