Mac heard it before he saw it, but whipping his head round in the direction of the sound, he couldn’t miss it. Jamali’s Mercedes was coming back up the track from the village, followed by a couple of technicals, each with a Dushka on the back. They were angled to fire in the direction of the ZU and they were almost within range.
Fuck, this was where it could all go horribly wrong.
The Dushkas let rip, trying to take out the cover that the rescue team were relying on to get them up the hill safely. Thankfully, Beroj and his men were on the ball. One of the technicals exploded in a crimson fireball that dissipated high above Mac’s head. The other stopped firing and took fright, executing a hurried U-turn on the track. But Mac wasn’t going to leave all the fun to the FSG. He raised his weapon and let rip an arc of fire across the front of the Mercedes, taking out the windscreen. He heard a scream from within the car, as it careered off the track and skidded a short way down the hillside. However, the other Dushka wasn’t down and out yet – its operator swung the barrel of his weapon round in Mac’s direction.
Where was the fucking FSG when you needed them?
Mac put on a desperate burst of speed to reach the shelter of the stable walls. Now he was able to return fire and provide cover for the rest of the team behind him. The militiaman at the compound gate made the run to the stables and in this way the two groups started moving in tactical bounds up the hill – one group going firm and providing cover while the other group moved.
Mac was running up the hill on the eastern shoulder of the quarry.
‘Come on,’ he yelled to Ginger, bobbing and weaving as fast as he could to present an impossible-to-hit moving target.
There seemed to be machine-gun fire coming from every direction, all around him. The FSG were taking on the Dushka, but it was still operational, even though the technical had taken a few hits.
Mac dived for cover behind a large boulder. Every muscle was burning and it felt like his lungs were being ripped from his chest with every breath. But this wasn’t recovery time – he needed to provide covering fire for Ginger and Bakker. Logan slumped down beside him, and the pair of them let rip from either side of the rock.
Just below them, Ginger and the militiaman were struggling to get Bakker up the slope. They moved as fast as they could, but it was slow compared to the pace Mac and Logan had managed, and with three of them linked together, they couldn’t duck and weave effectively.
Mac took his eyes off them to return fire at one of the gangsters on the roof of the main building. When he looked back, the three of them were sprawled on the ground. The militiaman had been hit. With one hand on his throat, he coughed and choked, spraying red foam across the other two as he drowned in his own blood. Ginger was frantically trying to drag Bakker to his feet.
‘Cover me,’ shouted Logan, above the din.
He ran down the slope and swept the crouching Bakker into a fireman’s lift. Ginger gave one last look at the militiaman, checking he was dead – but there was no real doubt about it – then followed Logan up the hill, now bobbing from side to side, until the three of them were able to throw themselves down behind the boulder.
Mac changed mags, yelling ‘Magazine!’ to alert the others that he wouldn’t be firing for a few seconds. A moment’s respite from the continuous thumping of the rifle butt against his broken collarbone.
‘Right, straight for the top,’ said Logan. ‘We need outta here.’
As Mac gave him cover, he signalled to the remaining militiamen to carry on up. The FSG saw what was happening and doubled down on their efforts, effectively quelling the enemy response to give the rescue team time to get out. The noise was deafening. Mac ran as hard as he’d ever run in his life. He was drenched with sweat and every step seemed to take an hour. His chest might burst at any second, but he had to keep going, unless he wanted this breath to be his last.
Ginger caught up with him, and Logan was only a few steps behind, despite carrying Bakker.
As they crested the hill, Jamali’s men made one last effort with a barrage of shots. Mac threw himself over the low ridge.
There was an agonised scream in his ear, then Ginger landed on top of him.
‘Fuck! Fuck! I’ve taken one!’
Mac pushed Ginger to one side so he could sit up.
‘Where?’
‘Leg,’ said Ginger through gritted teeth, curling onto his side and clutching at his calf.
Mac saw blood was soaking through Ginger’s combat trousers. It would hurt like a bitch, but it wasn’t life-threatening. He pulled Ginger round to sit up as Logan staggered past them with Bakker still across his shoulders. The remaining militiamen came over the brow, and one of them immediately squatted down and used a piece of webbing to give Ginger a tourniquet just below his knee.
Mac crawled back and peered down the hill. He could see the dead militiaman who’d been shot in the neck, but no others.
‘Head count?’ he yelled back at Logan.
Logan spun round, checking the men. ‘One missing.’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Let’s go,’ shouted Logan.
Not before time. The remaining technical had swung round again and was now heading up the hill to give chase.
‘Fucking take him out!’ He was addressing the FSG, even though there was no chance of them hearing him. But battlefield telepathy seemed to work just fine, because seconds later, the Dushka took a direct hit from the ZU, causing the technical to skid onto its side, slide down the hill and then over the lip of the quarry. It crashed down the rock face and exploded in a fireball at the bottom.
Silence.
Mac’s ears were ringing. The air was full of smoke. Around him, men were moving. One of the militiamen pulled him to his feet. Then he fell into line with the rest of them as they jogged down the hill to where the Hiluxes were waiting.
Ahead of him, Logan was on the radio to Beroj, no doubt telling him to pull back.
Ginger was limping, an arm around the shoulder of the militiaman who’d helped him.
‘You okay, mucker?’ said Mac, as he caught up with them.
‘I’ll live,’ said Ginger.
‘Too bloody right,’ said Mac. ‘We did it – we got out alive. Now let’s fucking get home.’