Alex woke late with a splitting headache, instantly regretting the excessive vodka consumption of the previous evening. The early morning breeze flapped at the canvas tent door incessantly. He checked his watch, rubbed the dryness from his eyes and reached over for a field canteen to lubricate his dehydrated state. Finding a pair of aviators, he got up and made his way to the door and glanced through at the eerily quiet camp beyond. He caught sight of Nish walking over and returned to a seat by his desk and collapsed into it. Nish poked his head through the tent door. ‘You up?’
Alex gestured him in. ‘Did I miss it?’
‘We all did.’ Nish sat on the spare seat. Alex frowned. ‘Good news, bad news, fuck it news?’
‘Bad news. How many?’
‘Twelve.’
‘That’s not so bad.’
‘No, twelve stayed. The rest fucked off. Twelve includes you and me. So one-hundred and ten down.’
‘I see...Fuck it news?’
‘They didn’t even stay for the vote. According to The Ninja, Merriweather persuaded them you were unlikely to honour payment so he fucked off with them taking the shipment and bonds with him. Along with anything that was worth more than scrap value.’
‘Merriweather? The architect of the pay for play fuck tent and trust box...? Didn’t think he had it in him.’
‘Stalking horse.’
‘So he took everything. The Landies?’
‘Come and see for yourself.’
‘So what was the good news?’
‘Well, it has solved the excessive cost of the fuck tent, payroll is manageable, and we’ll save a bob or four on transport costs since we can now fit everyone who’s left on the corporate jet.’
‘That’s something. Who stayed?’
‘The usual suspects. The Ninja, Sooty, Flat Eric, Two-Stroke, Mike the Saffa, Gary Glitterballs, Pablo, Hamid Khazi, Mister Patel and Cupcake.’
‘The dirty dozen then. Fuck. Thought that speech would have got at least a few...’
‘Inspiring as it was, that shit only works in Hollywood movies. In the real world people don’t give a fuck, they just want to get paid. Afghanistan is open for business, Iraq next. Everyone’s hiring.’
‘I suppose we got out cheap. I ran the numbers, even with what Merriweather took we were still short unless at least half The Company threw their prize money into the pot.’ Alex got up and walked out of the tent. He surveyed the desolate camp, now stripped bare of anything of value. ‘We got anything left?’
‘They left Ludmila. Took all the whores, left her. Samir stayed, but that goes without saying.’ Nish walked over to join Alex. ‘We should have shanked Merriweather when we had the chance. He hasn’t left Libya yet. Since he didn’t carry out a vote, according to the charter we’d be well within our rights to recover company funds and property.’
Alex shook his head. ‘Let him have it. Like I said, we got out at a discount. You took care of everything?’
‘All passwords and cypher keys changed. I took the precaution of moving the reserves into new numbered accounts. He’s taken the ledgers, client list, suppliers, but we have archives.’
‘You think he’s going to set up shop?’
‘Without Guild membership? Good luck with that.’
‘Well, our Russian charter will be vacant in thirteen days, he might fancy his chances.’
‘He wouldn’t last a week. He’s a fucking numbers jockey not a lord of war.’
‘We’ll he’s royally fucked us. Word is going to spread like wildfire that we’ve lost all our manpower. It’ll be open season as soon as the charter expires.’
‘Let them come,’ Nish replied.
‘You think he’ll go to Gadaffi?’
‘He hasn’t got much choice; he’s not getting out of the country otherwise. He arrived on your ticket remember?’
‘So how do we sell it?’
‘Don’t. Chechnya is done; we don’t need a full company. It’s the twelve you have that built this company’s reputation not the century of me-too’s. The more pressing problem is how we’re going to resolve getting Zara back. I’m not saying it can’t be done, but we’re going to need every bit of your creative tactical planning to turn twelve into one-twenty.’
‘What’s our cash position?’
‘Merriweather cleaned out the petty cash and float plus the current account. The reserve will cover the outstanding invoices that I know of, including your submarine extravaganza, beyond that we’re having a whip round in the mess tent for pocket change to get a minibus taxi back to Tripoli.’
‘That bad? Can we fire-sale the six-oh-four?’
‘We could, but we need to clear the hanger fees, fuel and service before it’ll get released.’
‘I can put that on my black card. Tools?’
‘Just what the boys had stuffed under their pillows to ward off the midnight buggerer. They cleaned out the armoury.’
‘Do you have any good news?’
Nish shrugged. ‘It’s a good opportunity. We always move faster when we’re small. Chance to get back to basics. More special ops and less big logistical campaigns. It’s where we started and how we got profitable. Maybe with the changing of the winds it is time to downsize, be more of a niche player.’
Alex headed into the mess tent where the remaining ten loyal members of The Company were waiting, looking less than cheerful. Alex pulled up a chair and sank into it.
A few minutes of awkward silence passed.
‘Sorry boss. We tried to stop them, but the fuckers tied us up,’ Sooty said with clear embarrassment.
‘It’s not your fault Sooty.’
‘It’s not yours either Alex. Those ungrateful bastards. See how fucking far they get with that bean-counter,’ Gary Glitterballs said sullenly.
‘I don’t know what to tell you. We’ve all been together long enough to know what this turn of events will bring, word will get out and they will come.’
‘We’ll start digging a mass grave for them now then,’ Two-Stroke said. ‘Fuck them Alex. We don’t need deadweight. We’ll get your missus back. You just tell us who’s getting it.’
‘It’s times like this you know who your friends are. We’ll figure it out. Together. Like we always do.’
‘Death and Glory Alex,’ Mike the Saffa said.
‘Death and Glory!’ they all cheered.
‘Fuck off...Breakfast and shower. Bunch of fucking toolsets,’ Nish said to a quiet chuckle in response.
‘Bit of housekeeping first. New Quartermaster. Mister Patel, I believe you at least studied some level of mathematics during your educational years in Delhi.’
‘What? Because I’m Indian I must be smart? That’s racist. Just because a lot of accountants and doctors come from India doesn’t mean we are all smart.’
‘Well you said it my friend...’ Hamid Khazi replied.
‘You’re a good negotiator Mister Patel, and we need to try and keep our supplier costs down on account of how broke-ass our company is, thanks to Merriweather.’
‘Oh so now it’s because I’m a good negotiator? You assume we all sell carpets at the bazaar and can make good deals. I never bought or sold anything in my life. Mrs Patel does all the family finances. She is a chartered fiduciary to a major conglomerate.’
‘Does she want to be Quartermaster?’ Nish asked.
‘I believe not. She’s filed for divorce. She’s left me for a doctor.’
‘Bad luck,’ Hamid said.
‘Volunteer then?’
‘I’ll do it.’ Everyone looked at Sooty. He shrugged. ‘I did a bit of trading on the Camden market between jobs.’
‘What sort of trading?’ Mister Patel asked.
‘Recreational pharmaceuticals mostly. It’s a didgy business, can’t be that much different than this.’
‘You inspire me with confidence,’ Mister Patel said with clear sarcasm. He turned to Alex. ‘I would like to be paid cash directly.’
‘Sooty will do the books. I will sign them off. You’ll all get paid.’
‘I thought we were broke?’ Gary asked.
‘We are.’
‘Nobody said anything about being paid. Fuck that, I made a right show of being here for the loyalty. Don’t pollute my big gesture with offers of payment,’ Gary said with a sulk.
‘You can always give it to charity,’ Nish suggested.
‘I wish my ex-wife would register as a charity, at least then I’d get a tax deduction,’ Mister Patel said.
‘When did you last pay tax?’ Hamid Khazi asked.
‘Let’s move on. Cupcake, you are still the only one of us who can cater, so you’ll take care of provisions. Two-Stroke on armoury and mech. Mike Saffa on tech and comms. Hamid you’re intelligence-’
‘That is a contradiction...’ Mister Patel said.
‘From the man whose wife pays for everything...’ Hamid replied.
‘Glitterballs, transport and logistics. Everyone else just find something useful to do from Nish. Order of business. Glitterballs, take whoever is spare, and go and recover our Landies before Merriweather has chance to find and strip the E.C.U transponders. Cupcake hitch a ride, get whatever Nish can spare from the kitty and get us three days’ provisions. Try and keep the cost down. Hamid, go with and see what you can get off the locals as to where we stand. Everyone else make a bare-bones list of what we need to get operational again and give it to Nish. Sooty get it billed up, best price possible and we’ll do what we can as we can. Samir, we can’t leave Mila here being so short manned or she’ll be on some Arab’s sex auction before the day is out. Go into town with them and book into a hotel discretely. Keep her quiet for the next couple of days.’
‘That will be easier said than done. I’m almost out of sedatives.’
‘Improvise. Any other business?’
‘Yeah. One thing. You gonna let Merriweather get away with this shit? He took our share too,’ Gary complained.
‘Well, we can’t do a lot about that right now. As soon as we’ve got out of crisis mode then Nish and I will do what we can to get you made whole again. That’s the best I can offer.’
‘That’s not the point. The boys and me, we stayed for you to get Zara back. We were putting our shares into the campaign fund. There was no vote Alex, he broke The Company rules doing what he did. You are well within your rights at The Guild to do something about it.’
The rest murmured their agreement. ‘I appreciate the support, but we don’t have the time or treasure to expend resources. Hamid, ask around town; see if you can find out how many are planning to stick with Merriweather after the disbursements. If we’re up against a full century of our former comrades in arms then collection will be more trouble than it’s worth. Let’s be pragmatic and fight the battles we can win. Merriweather can sit on the pot until we’re in better shape to show our displeasure.’
‘I want it on the record, we’re owed. If we don’t get paid we want some retribution delivered,’ Gary said.
‘You’ll get it. No bad deed goes unpunished. You know that by now. Time is our enemy, everything is moving around us. Let’s get ahead of it again. Get a taxi booked and get to work. Ninja, you’re with Nish and me. We’ve got to figure out a way to both avoid paying The Colonel his rent and avoid ending up on the hook to do one of his mentalist plans. We’ll convene at twenty-three hundred for brief on progress.’ Alex and Nish departed the tent and headed over to the Quartermaster’s tent. ‘How long do you think we have?’
‘If they come, they’ll come tonight before we have chance to retool,’ Nish replied.
‘Have we got anything left we can use?’ Alex asked Sooty.
Sooty shrugged. ‘If you want to start the A-Team music we can break out the field manual. Will do fuck-all good if they drop a bomb on us though.’
‘Have we even got a field manual?’ Alex asked.
Sooty walked over to a crate. ‘British, American, Russian, French, Italian.’
‘What does the French one say for repelling a nocturnal camp ambush?’ Nish asked.
Sooty opened the book and flicked through its pages. ‘My French is a bit rusty, but it appears to say, surrender immediately and run away.’
‘What about the Italian?’
‘Surrender before they arrive.’
‘Russian?’
‘Kill their parents, brothers, neighbours and dogs.’
‘We’ll go with the British then,’ Alex and Nish said in unison. ‘Give the French and Italian books to the boys to use for shit-paper.’
‘Listen Sooty, Gadaffi is sending a chopper to pick us up tonight, but I want the boys to hang around and pick us up. I’m not game for a return lift off the Colonel in case Merriweather has cut a deal already and we find ourselves being ejected at altitude in the darkness over the desert on the way back.’
‘Understood.’
‘Do what you can with the camp defences. Go medieval on the job if you have to. Punji sticks smeared in your shit. I don’t care. Just help us survive the night.’
‘Is it that bad?’ Sooty asked looking at Nish and Alex. ‘He’s not got the minerals, surely?’
‘I thought that before he upped and fucked off with all our kit and money before a vote. It seems Mister Merriweather is full of surprises,’ Nish said.
‘Me and the boys had a whip round, it’s not much, but the arms fair is tomorrow. Should be enough to at least get a few carbines and things that go bang. Maybe not a nuclear submarine, but better than nothing.’
‘I appreciate it Sooty.’
‘Fuck it eh? In for the lols. Fucking Libya. No money. Stuck in the desert. It’s like being back in The Regiment, but without the fucking paperwork and shit tea bags.’