THE VALLEY
An hour later JJ’s admin guys had purified almost thirty litres of water from the creek and had resupplied all the teams.
Matt put down his notebook, and looked up at JJ. ‘The Intelligence cell thinks that Rapier is going to try to make a run for it tomorrow morning, using the next valley as the escape route. I want to keep going down the valley until last light, JJ, so that the Taliban think we are going to continue that way tomorrow.’
‘Got it, boss.’
‘Thing is, JJ, we’ve given them a bit of time now and one thing that we know Rapier is good at . . .’
‘Is IEDs,’ JJ finished.
‘Yep, so we have to tread carefully here.’
‘Lucky we left Team Three back down the valley in that first compound, boss. There’s no way we could have got the ATVs and mortars and all of our heavy equipment through here.’
‘It wasn’t luck, JJ – come on, mate, give me some credit.’ Matt picked up his notebook and MultiCam daypack and slipped his arms through the straps.
He grabbed his fist mic again. ‘Okay, let’s go, guys. We have two more hours ahead of us; maybe we’ll link up with X-Ray Platoon as they make their way north. Hopefully we can sandwich any remaining Taliban between us.’
• • •
Three-quarters of an hour later, Jason Richards, the Team Four scout, carefully selected where to put his foot next. He stopped and everyone travelling behind him also stopped. In unison, their noise ceased. Moving his weapon on a traverse he scanned from right to left; wherever his barrel was pointing, his eyes followed. As a scout he had no peer. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise. Richards knew this feeling well. He slowly moved his left hand away from his rifle and behind his back, making the thumbs-down field signal for enemy. He couldn’t see anyone yet, but he knew that in front of him was an ambush.
Behind him, the teams started to fan out. The two lead team commanders moved their guys into frontal attack positions on either side of the river, offering the most firepower to cover Richards.
Matt saw Richards slow down and, as he did, he moved off to the corner of a compound so as to at least be protected from one side. Barnsley followed in close behind and took a knee on the ground next to an old man, who had just started a water pump. The old man sat naked but for a pair of long pants, the type a businessman would wear in the city except three times too big for him. A long brown belt was tied around his stomach, holding the pants in place. He sat cross-legged, staring at the soldiers. Barnsley mistakenly guessed he was about ninety, given the wear and tear he had endured; in fact, he was closer to seventy. Matt looked him over quickly to ensure he wasn’t a threat and then turned his attention back to Richards. He watched his movements though the foliage. He could see him standing about sixty metres ahead. He had deliberately stopped in an area that was on the edge of a clearing. He stood in a shadow and in front of him was bright light that shone down through a break in the green belt. Genius, Matt thought.
He knew what the scout was doing. This was the spot that the Taliban must have chosen to hit them again and Richards knew it. He was buying time for the platoon to shake out and close the gap with him.
Richards held his weapon facing forwards and slowly moved his head to the right. His eyes, however, stayed looking along the barrel of his weapon.
Thirty metres away, the hidden Taliban took the bait. Thinking the Australian was looking the other way; he shifted his position to try to get a better angle with his PKM machine gun. Richards saw the movement and in an instant had unloaded his magazine into the Taliban. The M4 kicked in his hands as a murderous stream of lead ripped through the enemy.
The PKM never returned fired, but moments later the rest of the frontage erupted with the sound of AK-47s, maybe twenty or more. The air exploded in booms of rifles, snaps of rounds passing overhead and the debris of leaves and branches being stripped from plants at either end of the battle.
Matt and Barnsley threw themselves down into the dirt. Matt looked through his ACOG, trying to get a sight picture on where the firing was coming from, but his teams were already manoeuvring to give chase and crossing in front of his own command team. He looked across at Barnsley and then at the old Afghan villager, who was now squatting next to the pump. Rounds thumped into the wall overhead and the old man just sat there.
He gave Matt a toothless smile then spat on the ground between his feet. He picked up a stick, never taking his eyes off Matt, and drew lines through his saliva, mixing it into the dirt.
Matt narrowed his eyes at the old man. ‘I bet they’re your sons, aren’t they, you old prick?’
Then, with a, ‘Let’s go, Barns,’ Matt sprinted from his position to get in behind Cinzano’s team so that he could better control the fight. This time, the commando teams gave back as good as they got. Thanks to the disciplined fire and constant pressure, the Taliban had no chance to reload. They withdrew at pace down their selected escape routes and the platoon gave chase. They fired and moved for a hundred metres or so in what developed into a rolling gunfight. The pressure on the Taliban was relentless and the commandos were vicious until the two front teams came to an overgrown creek junction. Cinzano stopped short.
‘What’s going on, Rob?’ Matt yelled into his radio.
‘It’s a no-go, boss.’
‘What ya talking about? We have em on the run. If we don’t keep following them up they’ll just ambush us again.’ Matt kicked at the low stone wall that he was taking shelter behind and some of the rocks fell onto Barnsley, lying next to him.
‘Jesus, boss,’ Barnsley complained.
‘Boss, this is a trap,’ Cinzano said. ‘You’re going to have to trust me on this one.’
Matt was itching to finally get among these guys and make them pay for the past few months, but he knew it was true that discretion was the better part of valour.
‘Acknowledged. I’m moving to your location.’ And then to his team: ‘Let’s go, guys.’ Securing the sling on his rifle, Matt started off towards Team Two’s location, the rest of his team in tow.
• • •
Arriving at Cinzano’s position, Matt could instantly see what the problem was. The small riverbank here dropped away into a steep cliff. The Taliban, with nothing but weapons and ammunition, had slid down it and made off across to the other side. The embankment was wet and slippery and there was no way a commando was getting up the other side with all of their kit. In fact, there was no way any team was getting across here without ropes and a good obstacle-crossing plan.
‘Call X-Ray Platoon, Barns, and let them know that we won’t be linking up tonight. I’ll let them know tomorrow’s plan when we get back to the compound.’ Matt turned away from the obstacle and started to head back in the direction he had just come from.
‘Oh, Rob?’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Get your guys sorted, and give them a rest at the back of the platoon; they’ve done an excellent job today.’
‘Thanks, boss.’
Matt thought a moment longer and then added, ‘Also, mate, take all the spark plugs out of the water pumps as you go past them on the way back up the valley. I think some of these old bastards have been marking the front line of our troops with the noise from the pumps all day.’
As Matt walked away he gave quick orders to get all of the teams turned around and heading back to the compound. They had to cover the two and a half kilometres back, and it was all uphill, but at least they’d be moving over ground they had already cleared.