The Spoilers / Juggernaut (27 page)

Behind them all was turmoil as the frantic camels plunged and bucked and more of them tugged free of their tethers to run down the valley. Warren thought afterwards that this was the one thing that saved them; none of the Kurds near them could get a clear shot in the confusion and their bullets went wild. He reached the nearest Land-Rover, snatched open the door, and hurled himself inside.

As he twisted the ignition key he saw the other Land—Rover take off with spinning wheels with Tozier still running next to it. Tozier jumped as Follet pushed open the door and bullets sent dust spurting in fountains around where his ankles had been. But he was in the passenger seat, and Warren ground gears as he followed, hoping to God that Follet remembered the direction of the gorge.

He glanced in the wing mirror and saw a big truck wheel in line behind. That would be Metcalfe doing his best to bottle up the gorge. The movable windscreen of the truck was wide open and he saw the tanned blur of Metcalfe’s face and the glint of white teeth—the man was actually laughing. In that brief glimpse he also saw that there was something wrong with the truck; it trailed a thick cloud of billowing black smoke which coiled in greasy clouds and drifted across the valley behind. Then there were a couple of quick thumps somewhere at the back of the Land-Rover and abruptly the wing-mirror shivered into fragments.

Warren revved the engine fiercely and plunged after Follet as he entered the gorge. He hazily remembered that there was a sharp bend about a hundred yards along, but it came sooner than he expected and he had to slam on anchors in a hurry to prevent himself running into Follet.

From behind there came a rending crash and he turned his head and looked back. Metcalfe had swerved and driven the truck into the wall of the gorge, jamming the entrance completely. Already he was climbing out through the open windscreen while the oily black smoke coming from the truck eddied in thick clouds. It occurred to Warren that this was deliberate—that Metcalfe had provided a smokescreen to cover their sudden dash to the gorge.

Metcalfe ran up brandishing a sub-machine-gun. He waved to Follet in the front vehicle, and shouted. ‘Get going!’ Then he jumped in alongside Warren, and said breathlessly, ‘There’s going to be a hell of a bang any moment
now—that truck’s full of mortar bombs and it’s burning merrily.’

Follet moved off and Warren followed, and even as they turned the corner the first explosion came from the burning truck, accompanied by what sounded like an infantry regiment doing a rapid-fire exercise. ‘I burst open a few cases of small arms ammunition and scattered those in, too,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Getting past that truck will be bloody dangerous for the next half hour.’

Warren found his hands trembling uncontrollably on the wheel and he tried desperately to steady them as he drove along the twisting gorge. He said, ‘Are we likely to meet any opposition along here?’

‘Too bloody right,’ said Metcalfe, and cocked the submachine-gun. He saw the microphone and picked it up. ‘Does this thing work? Is it on net?’

‘It’ll work if it’s switched on. I don’t know if Andy will be listening, though.’

‘He will,’ said Metcalfe with confidence, and snapped switches. ‘He’s too old a hand at this game to neglect his communications.’ He lifted the microphone to his lips. ‘Hello, Andy; can you hear me? Over.’

‘I hear you, Tom,’ said Tozier metallically. ‘You timed everything very well. Over.’

‘All part of the service,’ said Metcalfe. ‘There may be some opposition. Fahrwaz has an outpost at the other end of the gorge. Not more’n a dozen men, but they’ve got a machine-gun. Any suggestions? Over.’

There was a muffled exclamation from the loudspeaker and Tozier said, ‘How long have we got? Over.’

‘About twenty minutes. Half an hour at most. Over.’

The loudspeaker hummed and there was a faint crackle. ‘Pull us up short and out of sight.’ said Tozier. ‘I think we can handle it. Out.’

Metcalfe replaced the microphone on its bracket. ‘Andy’s a good man,’ he said dispassionately. ‘He’d better
be bloody good this time, though.’ He twisted the satchel he was wearing to where he could unfasten it, then jerked his thumb to the rear. ‘I’m going back there; I won’t be long.’

He climbed into the back of the Land-Rover and Warren, flipping an eye up to the interior mirror, saw his arm move in a rhythmic movement as though throwing something repeatedly. As he came back into his seat he tossed the empty satchel from the window.

‘What were you throwing out back there?’ asked Warren curiously.

‘Caltrops—tyre-busters,’ said Metcalfe with a grin. ‘Whichever way they land there’s always one sharp point sticking up. The Kurds use a lot of them when they’re being chased by the Iraqi armoured car patrols. I see no reason why they shouldn’t be on the receiving end for once.’

Warren’s hands were steadier. This calm, matter-of-fact man was a soothing influence. He slowed for another sharp bend, and said, ‘How did you cause all that racket back in the valley?’

‘Started a fire in an ammunition dump,’ said Metcalfe cheerily. ‘And laid a time-fuse in the mortar bomb store. I also tied strings to a hell of a lot of grenades and tied the other end to the truck—when I moved off it pulled out the firing pins and they started popping off. Old Fahrwaz may still have the guns I brought, but he won’t have much left to shoot out of them.’

More explosions sounded distantly behind them, the noise deadened by the rock walls of the gorge, and Metcalfe grinned contentedly. Warren said, ‘How much further to go?’

‘We’re about half way.’ He picked up the microphone and rested it on his lap. Presently he raised it to his lips and said, ‘We’re just about there, Andy. Stop round the next corner. Over.’

‘Okay, Tom. Out.’

Warren eased to a halt as Follet slowed. Metcalfe jumped out and joined Tozier, who asked, ‘What’s the situation?’

Metcalfe nodded up the road. ‘The gorge ends just round that corner. There’s a small rocky hill—what we’d call a
kopje
in South Africa—which commands the entrance. Our boys are on top of there.’

‘How far from this spot?’

Metcalfe cocked his head on one side. ‘About four hundred yards.’ He pointed upwards. ‘If you climb up there you’ll be able to see it.’

Tozier looked up, then nodded abruptly and turned to Warren. ‘Nick, you’ll be helping Johnny. The first thing you do is to get out the spare wheel. And do it quietly—no metallic clinks.’

Warren frowned. ‘The spare wheel…’ But Tozier had already walked away and was talking to Follet. Warren shrugged and got out the wheel brace to unfasten the nuts which held the spare wheel in place.

Metcalfe and Tozier began to climb the side of the gorge, and Follet came across to help Warren. The spare wheel came loose and Follet rolled it along the ground as though he was looking for a special place to put it. He laid it down carefully, then went back to Warren. ‘Get out the jack,’ he said, and surprised Warren by diving under the Land-Rover with a spanner clutched in his hand.

Warren found the jack and laid it on the ground. Follet said in a muffled voice, ‘Give me a hand with this,’ so Warren dropped to his knees and saw Follet busily engaged in removing the exhaust silencer. When he took hold of it he found it surprisingly heavy and only slightly warm to the touch. They dragged it clear and Follet unfastened a couple of nuts and slid out the baffles which formed an integrated unit. He nodded towards the wheel. ‘Take it over there,’ he said, and picked up the jack and a toolbox.

Warren dumped the silencer next to the wheel. ‘What are we supposed to be doing?’

‘This will be a mortar when we’ve assembled it,’ said Follet. ‘A mortar needs a base plate—that’s the wheel. There’s a flange on it so it makes firm contact with the ground. The silencer is the barrel—you didn’t think Rover silencers are machined like that, did you?’ He began to work rapidly. ‘Those lugs fit here, on the wheel. Help me.’

The lugs slid home sweetly into the slots in the wheel and Follet pushed a pin through the aligned holes. ‘This screw jack is the elevating mechanism,’ he said. ‘It fits in here like this. You fit the wheel brace and turn, and the whole barrel goes up and down. Just fasten those nuts, will you?’

He ran back to the vehicles leaving Warren a little numb with astonishment but not so much as to neglect the urgency of the occasion. Follet came back and tossed down an ordinary transparent plastic protractor. ‘That screws on to the jack—it already has holes drilled.’ Warren screwed the protractor in place and found that he had just installed a simple range scale.

Above his head Metcalfe and Tozier looked across at the small rocky hill. As Metcalfe had said it was about four hundred yards away and he could see quite clearly the halfdozen men standing on top. ‘Has Fahrwaz got a telephone line laid on—or anything like it?’

Metcalfe held his head on one side as he heard a distant thud. ‘He won’t need it in the circumstances,’ he said. ‘Those boys can hear what’s going on. They’re getting worried—look at them.’

The men on the hill were gazing at the entrance to the gorge and there was some gesticulating going on. Tozier produced a small prismatic compass and sighted it carefully on the hill. ‘We have a mortar,’ he said. ‘Johnny Follet is assembling it now. We also have a light machine-gun. If we
get the machine-gun up here you can hose the top of that hill and draw their fire.’ He turned and took another sight on the mortar. ‘As soon as we know where their machinegun is, then we knock it out with the mortar.’

‘Andy, you’re a tricky bastard,’ said Metcalfe affectionately. ‘I always said so and, by God, I’m right.’

‘Our machine-gun has no belt or drum—just a hopper into which you dump loose rounds. You should be able to handle it.’

‘It sounds like the Japanese Nambu. I can handle it.’

‘You’ll also be artillery spotter,’ said Tozier. ‘We’ll be firing blind from down there. Do you remember the signals we used in the Congo?’

‘I remember,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Let’s get that machine-gun up here. I wouldn’t be surprised if those boys come down the gorge to see what’s happening back there.’

They climbed down and found Warren tightening the last nut on the mortar. Metcalfe looked at it unbelievingly. ‘What a crazy lash-up. Does it really work?’

‘It works,’ said Tozier briefly. ‘See how Johnny’s getting on with the machine-gun. Time is getting few.’

He dropped on one knee, checked the assembly of the mortar, then began to line it up in conformity with the angles he had taken using the compass. ‘We’ll set it at four hundred yards,’ he said. ‘And hope for the best.’

‘I didn’t believe you when you said we had a mortar,’ said Warren. ‘What about shells?’

‘Bombs,’ said Tozier. ‘We’ve got precious few of those. You might have noticed that we’re liberally equipped with fire extinguishers. There’s one under the bonnet in the engine space, one under the dash and another in the back. Six for the two trucks—and that’s all the bombs we have. Help me yank ‘em out.’

Metcalfe climbed up to his perch on top of the gorge again, trailing a rope behind him. Once settled he hauled up
the machine-gun, filled up the hopper with rounds of ammunition, and pushed it before him so that it rested firmly on its bipod. He sighted in carefully at the little group on the hill then turned his head and waved.

Tozier held up his hand and jerked his head at Follet. ‘Take that burp-gun which Tom brought along, and go back along the gorge to the first corner. If anything moves, shoot it.’

Follet indicated the mortar. ‘What about this?’

‘Nick and I can handle it. We’re not out for rapid fire—not with only six rounds. Get going. I like to feel that my back’s protected.’

Follet nodded, collected the sub-machine-gun and departed at a trot. Tozier waited two minutes and then waved to Metcalfe.

Metcalfe moved his shoulders to loosen them, set his cheek against the butt and looked through the sights. There were five men clearly in view. Gently he squeezed the trigger and death streaked towards the hill at 2,500 feet per second. At that range he could not miss. Delicately he traversed the gun and a scythe of bullets chopped across the top of the hill and suddenly there was no one to be seen.

He stopped firing and waited for something to happen. Moving very slowly he brought his hand forward and dropped a handful of bullets into the hopper. That first long burst had been ruinously expensive of ammunition. He studied the hill carefully but detected nothing that moved.

A rifle cracked twice but no bullet came near him. It was just random shooting. The outpost’s machine-gun was mounted so as to sweep the open ground in front of the entrance to the gorge. Apparently no one had taken into account an attack on the outpost from the rear, so it would take some little time for them to reorganize. He smiled grimly as he thought of the frantic effort that must be going
on behind the hill. There would be quite a bit of consternation, too.

The rifle fired again, twice in quick succession—two of them, he judged. He was there to draw fire so he decided to tickle them up and squeezed the trigger again in a quick and economical burst of five rounds. This time he was answered in like manner by the sustained chatter of a machine-gun, and a hail of bullets swept the rocks thirty yards to his left and ten yards below.

He could not see where the gun was firing from so he squirted another short burst and was answered again. This time he spotted it—they had brought the machine-gun around the curve of the hill and about half way up, sheltered in a tumbled heap of boulders. He signalled to Tozier who bent down to adjust the mortar.

Tozier tugged the lanyard and the mortar barked. Warren saw the thin streak against the sky as the bomb arched in its trajectory and disappeared from sight, but Tozier was already looking at Metcalfe to find the result of the first ranging shot.

He grunted as Metcalfe waved his hand complicatedly. ‘Thirty yards short—twenty to the left.’ He adjusted the elevation and traversed the mortar slightly, then reloaded. ‘This one ought to be better.’ The mortar barked again.

The second bomb exploded dead in line with the machine-gun position but behind it. A man broke from cover and Metcalfe coolly cut him down with a short burst, then signalled to Tozier to reduce the range. The consternation must be just about complete, he thought, but changed his mind as the machine-gun rattled again and the earth just below his position fountained magically and rock splinters whined above his head. He ducked and slipped back into cover as the leaden hail beat the ground where he had been, sending his gun flying under the impact of the bullets.