Dutch Courage (10 page)

Knowing full well how many men felt about the situation in Afghanistan, Max steered the conversation in a fresh direction. ‘You'll appreciate that our first task is to investigate the victim's relationship and standing with his colleagues, who are the most likely suspects in a case like this.'

‘Much as I deplore that reasoning, I'll cooperate as much as I can. We want this cleared up fast and with as little disturbance as possible.' He smiled. ‘Six Seven Eight is bloody pleased with itself right now. Sam and his crew did us proud. We don't want the gilt tarnished.'

‘Completely understandable. What I'd like first from you are the names of his particular friends, men who regularly flew or socialized with him. I'd also like to know about any incident or unpleasantness that occurred in Afghanistan during his recent tour.'

Southerland shook his head. ‘I wasn't out there. A Flight deployed with Apaches to form part of the Joint Helicopter Force based at Kandahar. The Flight Commander was John Fraeme, a close friend of Sam. He's aloft right now, but he'll be glad to talk to you about those four months. As to who flies regularly with Sam, the most prominent of them is Staff Richards. Andy was wounded during the rescue that earned them all recognition. He's grounded until a decision is made on his future as a pilot. Unfortunately, there's some doubt about the flexibility of his hand.'

After a brief pause, Southerland said, ‘In any unit there are men a wise commander will only put together when he has no other option. I daresay you also have perfectly good, competent soldiers who lose their cool when they have to work together.'

Max nodded. It was a common problem in any workplace. In the armed forces, where people lived as well as worked closely with each other, it was even more important to recognize and deal with it.

‘So there are squadron members who prefer not to fly with Sam Collier?'

‘There's nothing significant in that,' Major Southerland said firmly. ‘It's not just Sam Collier. Personalities frequently clash, and it's essential for a crew to be in complete harmony. Any aggro, any hasty or impulsive action, particularly in a hostile situation, can send an aircraft into the ground. If men tell me they can't gel with certain others I respect their regard for all-round safety.' Seeing Max's expression, he added even more firmly, ‘It doesn't mean they'll waylay a guy and give him a thrashing.'

‘In my experience a bosom pal is just as likely to offer violence when provocation grows beyond containment.' He got to his feet. ‘If you'll list Collier's friends as well as those who are chary of flying with him, I'll join my sergeant major in the crew room and talk to them.'

At mid-morning on a working day, aircrew who were not in the air or sleeping-off night-flying practice were checking equipment, discussing problems with their aircraft with ground staff, studying charts for their forthcoming flights or attending lectures on what to expect on deployment to Middle East war zones. There were just two men with Tom when Max entered.

Introductions were made, coffee poured and biscuits offered. Tom then revealed that they had struck lucky in having with them the crew of the Lynx that had flown in harness with Collier's on the day of the daring rescue. Expressive eyebrow movement told Max more than Tom's words. There was a lead here.

Second Lieutenant Baz Flint and Sergeant Pilot Jerry Lang were disturbed by the punishment assault last night. That was what they called it: a punishment assault.

‘Punishment for what?' asked Max.

‘What happened to Andy, I guess,' said the tall, lean subaltern with a shrug.

‘But surely he was shot by snipers, and Sam Collier flew back with him after extricating four wounded men.' At their silence, Max said, ‘I only know what the media puffed off. Give me your version.'

Clearly too edgy to sit, the two men shifted from foot to foot beside the coffee machine as they relived that sweltering morning at the start of the year.

‘We go out in pairs to give aerial protection to convoys running essential supplies from Kandahar to Camp Bastion,' Baz Flint explained. ‘There's only one traversible route for laden trucks. The Taliban know this and consistently place roadside bombs in what look like broken down vehicles.' He gave a faint grin. ‘Not difficult. Most of them in that area are last-breath wrecks tied up with rope or strips of cloth.'

Jerry Lang said, ‘It's not always car bombs. They're fond of siting explosives with timers, knowing full well when a convoy will be passing.'

‘Our task is to watch out for lone parked vehicles, or several ramshackle cars that could contain suicide bombers heading in the opposite direction to the convoy. We warn the lead escorts and they investigate.'

They were like a double act, relating their story in alternate passages. Lang took up the narrative again. ‘From our overview we can spot potential hazards way ahead.'

‘Where we're stymied is in the built up areas. We can't identify a bloody thing in narrow overcrowded streets with flapping awnings and carts piled high with melons or vegetables,' Baz explained.

‘That's more or less where it happened,' said Lang. ‘The trucks had cleared the centre of the city and were winding through the outskirts when we saw the last one and the rear Land Rover disintegrate. The convoy put on a spurt to clear the area, and people ran to the locals who had been caught in the blast.'

‘There was chaos. Through the smoke we then saw our guys crawling, staggering, trying to help each other away from the burning wrecks,' Baz said with an echo of the tension of that time. ‘Then Sam's on the radio saying they're going down and asking for cover. It was . . . well, as a helipad it had zero advantages and smoke-hazed ground visibility. But he was the boss.'

‘So they went down and you did give them cover?' asked Tom.

Baz nodded. ‘I've never seen anything so determined. As soon as the skids hit the ground, Sam was out and running to a guy who was on fire. He rugby tackled him, rolling him in the dust to smother the flames, then picked him up and carried him to the Lynx. We circled low, eyes peeled for signs of further hostility, but the place was fast emptying of people.'

Jerry Lang took up the account again. ‘When Sam was bringing the second man across, gunfire burst from one of the buildings, bullets raking the ground just ahead of them. Joe Binney, their air door gunner, set up return fire on bastards well hidden. Rounds flew back and forth while Sam continued bringing the wounded across. The third guy was then hit in the leg and collapsed, but Sam hauled him up and appeared totally unconcerned with the danger of what he was doing.'

‘He's a large, hefty guy,' said Baz with an appreciative shake of his head. ‘Even after half-carrying four men, he threw out some packs of water and supplies on board to allow for the weight of an additional passenger to the normal three. Tossed it out as it were lightweight stuff. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. He was like a man gone beserk.'

‘Yet he flew the Lynx back to Kandahar single-handed,' prompted Max, who had read the newspaper accounts.

‘Andy, in the left-hand seat, was nearest to the snipers,' Jerry explained. ‘He was unlucky to be hit as they left the ground. Made a mess of his hand. Two fingers all but severed. So Sam took control. Andy passed out from loss of blood before they reached base.'

‘They all survived, although two needed serious medical care. The guy whose legs and arms were badly burned, and the one with a smashed kneecap. We always collect our wounded, and the dead, because these people don't recognize the rules of engagement,' Baz put in emphatically, ‘but what Sam did was exceptional. He was captured in Sierra Leone, then subjected to mental torture and humiliation before escaping. He and the other captives have no doubt they'd have been killed eventually. Sam had been married three months earlier; Margot was pregnant. He swears her fear for him led to the miscarriage. He has a fierce hatred of captivity or any form of helplessness in the hands of an enemy. I'm sure that's what drove him to do what he did.'

Tom made a point. ‘Yet you believe last night's assault was to punish him for his daring rescue.'

They both looked uncomfortable. ‘We didn't say that.'

‘You suggested retribution for his co-pilot's injury, which might end his career as air crew,' Max reminded them.

Baz looked even more uncomfortable. ‘Look, Sam's a real team player through and through, never acts solo.'

‘Except . . .' Lang hesitated.

‘Yes?' Tom prompted.

‘It's nothing really . . . but he seems to be pushing himself to the limits lately. It's as if he's trying to prove something. Crazy! What's left to prove?'

Five

‘
O
ur bleeding squadron hero?' said the pugnacious corporal. ‘Yeah, I've flown as his air door gunner once or twice.'

‘Not regularly?' asked Phil Piercey, satisfied by the obvious disparagement in the man's response. Piercey mistrusted heroes, feeling instinctively that they were too good to be true. When they were also physically attractive all his hackles rose in a desire to expose a serious flaw. He sensed that Corporal Fleet was about to oblige in that respect. He was wrong.

‘We like working with the same pilots whenever we can. Means we have a good understanding. It's important when RPGs are flying around.'

Having no experience of rocket-propelled grenades flying around him, Piercey glossed over that. ‘You didn't have that understanding with Lieutenant Collier?'

Fleet shrugged. ‘Some of the cockpit guys are prima donnas. Fancy theirselves. When all's said and done we're a team. They need the guy with the gun as much as he needs them.'

‘You're saying Collier throws his weight around; treats his crew as subordinates?'

‘Nah, I'm not saying that,' came the contradictory response.

Piercey was getting annoyed with this character. ‘So what
are
you saying, Corporal?'

At that moment they were practically deafened by the nerve-jangling screech created by engineers working on a Lynx at the far end of the hangar. Piercey had tracked down this gunner of A Flight inspecting the gun-mounting on the helicopter he was due to fly in later that afternoon. Not ideal interviewing conditions. He jerked his head towards the hangar doors.

‘We'll continue this outside.'

Fleet went willingly enough, but Piercey now recognized the game the other man was playing.
They
called it Buggering the Redcaps; SIB called it perverting the course of justice. Piercey acted accordingly as soon as they left the hangar and stood in the freshness of mid-morning.

‘Where were you last night, Corporal?'

‘Eh?' He was unsettled by the direct question. ‘At home. With my missus.'

‘From what time and until when?'

‘Here, you don't think I had something to do with that business?' His knowing expression had vanished, the sly gleam in his grey eyes had dimmed.

‘So you
are
aware that I'm investigating a serious crime against a serving officer?'

‘I don't know anything about that. What d'you take me for?'

Piercey gave a grim smile. ‘Since you ask, I take you for a cocky little know-all who thinks it's clever to run rings around anyone in authority. Can you prove you were at home for the whole of last night?'

The expression was now wary. ‘She'll tell you.'

‘She?' snapped Piercey.

‘The wife.'

‘No one else?

Real anxiety now. ‘Christ, what're you saying?'

Piercey's smile grew even grimmer. ‘Which is exactly what I was asking you back there.'

Even in the open air they were disturbed by the sound of two Lynx coming in, but Piercey could detect the hint of nervousness in Fleet's voice.

‘When I said that about prima donnas, I didn't mean Lieutenant Collier. As I said, I don't often fly with him, but he's all right. I got no grudge, like some have.'

‘Like who?'

A quick nervous smile. ‘Oh no, I'm no snitch. I got to work with them. But there's one or two not happy about his upper-crust connections and flashy lifestyle. Not that I'm saying they'd beat him up,' he added swiftly. ‘Can't think who'd do that.'

The downdraught from dual rotors hit them, ruffling their hair and flipping Piercey's gaudy tie over his shoulder. ‘You were in Kandahar recently. Was there any incident, unpleasant or controversial, involving Lieutenant Collier during those four months?'

‘Not that I knew of,' Fleet replied above the screaming of the rotors. ‘I mostly flew with Captain Fraeme and Staff Benedict or Lieutenant Fields and Sergeant Benbow. Off duty I was with the other gunners and NCOs.'

‘Any of them have a knife to grind with Lieutenant Collier?' asked Piercey, tucking his tie back inside his dark jacket and smoothing his hair.

‘If they did, it weren't obvious. Look, Sarge, I've got nothing useful to tell you, and I've to check that gun before I go for my dinner.'

Piercey moved to block his path. ‘The base at Kandahar is run by the US, isn't it? How were the Yankee women? Friendly?'

‘What you getting at now?'

‘Just answer the question.'

The knowing expression returned. ‘What did our grandparents say? Overpaid, oversexed and over here? Not much has changed, but the women weren't interested in us berks. Lieutenant Fields sometimes wandered over to their lines, but in the shop and coffee bars we maintained armed neutrality. That special relationship we're always being told we have.'

Knowing he had probably exhausted this man's usefulness, Piercey let him go. Fleet was not the type to lambast an officer – verbally behind his back, but not with a length of rope. Yet he had avoided giving his opinion of ‘our bleeding squadron hero's' courage. Well, Fleet was not going anywhere so there was always the prospect of a second go at him.