Ashe was soaking. It had rained all the way from the airport at Mosul – a steady drizzle, persistent enough to dampen any good feelings.
The Land Rover 110 splashed its way along the winding mountain roads. On the approach to the village of Kurahmark the gradient increased and the earth got browner and browner as the sky got filthier and filthier. Traces of green slowly faded away as they made the last twenty kilometres to the RV, the rendezvous point near the village of Kurku. Just outside the village, the road stopped abruptly. The Land Rover carried on along the rough mountainside for another kilometre, until it became too steep.
‘This’ll be it, chum.’
The driver – a Mancunian – Kev ‘The Blade’ Norton (signals), gave a one-sided grin and jumped out of the Land Rover. He was swiftly followed by Pat Scrabster (linguist and sniper), Derek Hayes (demolition), and Andy Tongue (medicine).
The men had worked as a team for two years in Afghanistan and Iraq. All of them were used to prolonged periods of silence and seemed to know what the others were thinking. Quietly, they started loading equipment onto their backs.
Three Pink Panther – ‘pinkie’ – desert vehicles were waiting for them under camouflage, which also gave some shelter from the rain. Out from under the camouflage, dressed in Kurdish costume, stepped Major Richmond. He shook hands with Ashe.
‘Welcome to the RV. This is where we’ll regroup after the show. I hope you’re ready for a walk, Toby.’
‘How far?’
‘About eight kilometres, as the crow flies.’
‘And we’re not crows.’
‘It’ll seem longer. We need to move out in four minutes, so I’d like you to get some extra kit on. We’re all adopting some aspect of Kurdish style. This will help Jolo and his men identify us. But first I want you to get into this vest and a few other things.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That’s the Kevlar body suit. It can take a bullet, and it’s got ceramic inserts, which really do save lives.’
Ashe pulled off his desert fatigues and hauled himself into the body suit.
‘You’d never think this stuff would stop bullets.’
‘Science doing the soldier a favour for a change. Once it’s on, you don’t have to think about it.’
Richmond threw Ashe a green sleeveless garment. ‘This is the Dowty Armourshield General Purpose Vest 25, Toby.’
‘What’s this one got, apart from an extraordinary name?’
‘It’s got a blunt trauma shield.’
‘Purpose?’
‘The rest might stop a bullet from piercing your body, but you need the shield to lessen the trauma of being hit. Weighs four kilogrammes, which you’ll notice after a while.’
‘Better than being dead.’
Richmond smiled. ‘That’s the idea.’
Ashe slipped on some grey baggy trousers and a buff-coloured light cotton jacket while Richmond helped him with a blue-and-white-striped turban.
‘Important thing is to get its tail to flow backwards, not in your face.’
‘Got it.’
‘Now, in this pack you’ll find a survival kit, some stun grenades, an SF10 respirator, a specialised helmet adapted to it, some plastic bags to put your shit in, a few other things I’ll talk about later – and a map. Important thing. Never mark the map or fold it in such a way as to give anyone finding it a clue about anything that matters.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘That’s where they’d find it. Right. Weapon. As this sort of trek is new to you, I thought you might like to get to grips with this.’
Ashe admired the factory-fresh submachine gun. ‘Heckler & Koch MP5 SD. Silenced version.’
‘Very good. Don’t want to frighten you with loud noises. If you’d prefer an assault rifle to the submachine gun, just say so.’
‘This is fine.’
‘Here’s the ammo belt. The holster carries a 9 mm Browning High Power pistol. You can keep your boots.’
‘I should think so. Cost a bloody fortune.’
Ashe and Richmond emerged from beneath the camouflage netting to find themselves surrounded by a ring of human steel. This mission clearly had high-priority status.