Davie was not feeling so confident now. They hadn’t known there would be guns, never mind full on hard core automatic ones. Now a hail of bullets raged around the tank. Someone got hit in the leg and the boys in the pick-up had beaten a retreat.
Now they were stuck here in the middle of it and to cap it off the cops had arrived.
He wasn’t sure but there was every possibility you could get done for being drunk in charge of a tank, not to mention vandalism.
The shots were all coming from the main grain store and the office opposite. They could do something about that.
Victor watched the tank move. He fired a salvo at the turret on the top. He knew the damage would be minimal but it would deafen whoever was in there and might make them think twice.
The tank seemed to move about indecisively for a few seconds, like some kind of giant dithering beast, before it turned on its tracks and headed the other way towards the grain store. The police had moved in, surrounded the place. This was now a siege situation at best. The others were in there for now, all except the lawyer who should have finished off the kid.
There was confusion in this situation. The red mist had descended. The tank headed towards the grain store with renewed vigour clearly meaning to take down the steel door. The others would be exposed, probably run. He had to take his chance now.
The helicopter circled overhead. He told himself it would be focused on the main action.
He ran out the back door of the office, across the courtyard to where there was a gap between two buildings in the corner. Squeezing through the gap he ran along the wall behind the buildings. The workmanship was inconsistent and he could see through holes in the breezeblocks. The police had used his airstrip as a giant car park surrounding the complex from there and round. He could hear the squawked messages, telling them they were surrounded. Give up. Never.
They had his plane. He had no idea where the pilot was. A second helicopter sat at the far end of the runway, like an invitation. But how to get to it?
He could hear the tank at the other end of the complex, crashing into the grain store.
Why were the police waiting? Were they scared to come in until their tank had done the heavy work?
Then he remembered. There was a chance, the lawyer was as weak willed as he imagined. The boy, if he were only still alive; he was almost certain he could be used as leverage.
He doubled back, heading for the barn he’d left them in. He could feel the soft seat in the helicopter already. There was always a way.
They sat hunkered behind vehicles on the airstrip. They had been given the nod to pull back out of the open five minutes ago but this had been retracted. The marksmen were moving in, gaining ground, unseen.
One target had moved to the wall bordering the airstrip and then pulled back again, sneaking towards God knew where, blissfully unaware of the infrared eye in the sky, following his heat signatures every move.
Another three targets were in the grain store, with a further number in the tank. Intelligence had it that these were locals. Every time he thought he’d seen it all he went home and it surprised him.
A further two targets could be seen in an adjacent barn but they were losing heat fast and it wasn’t looking promising. Presumably these were the hostages the reports were coming in about after they’d intercepted the pick-up full of witnesses trying to make their escape.
The order went out for the marksmen to advance and Burke could see them now in his mind’s eye, heading in. It would be the first and last time this military base saw any action.
Davie and Al sat in the tank unsure of what to do now. There was nothing like biting off more than you could chew. The cops were involved. The pissed off workers with the guns were pinned in the grain store and all they could do was fire a few rounds at the tank. First of all it had scared the hell out of them, and then it made them laugh but now they were probably up shit creek with the police turning up. This could take some explaining.
So they sat and waited, and then it dawned on them. Maybe no one knew this was a decommissioned tank. Maybe they had no idea that Al’s dad had bought it from a Russian scrap firm for buttons and rented it to stag dos for a small fortune. No. The boys must have been caught by the fuzz on the way out. They must have explained it surely.
He needed a better view of the situation, couldn’t see behind so he rotated the turret to get some kind of look. As the dangerous end of it came round to point at the outside of the barn he caught some movement. A guy dragging something. It looked like a person. It looked like Andy. This guy was dragging his seriously damaged friend with him.
He must have heard the squeal of the turrets motor and turned to see the gun facing him. The man stood for a second wondering what to do, totally oblivious to the fact he was looking down the barrel of a camouflaged painted broom handle. Then, as though unconcerned, he hoisted Andy onto his back and began limping away, confident his human shield was in place. He was headed for the airstrip.
33
The marksmen entered the complex via the broken down front entrance, splitting into two groups and continuing down opposite sides of the main road slowly.
They were directed by intel from above and knew to expect fire from the entrance of the main building on the far right. The tank in the doorway was not considered a threat, but the figure or figures moving away from it were.
The tank reversed at speed from the entrance without warning, leaving the targets inside in an open position. The three officers on the left side covered the entrance, taking turns to advance further round. The three on the opposite side advanced along the wall in the same direction trying to get a line of fire on the moving targets which were currently obscured by the now slow moving tank.
“He’s headed this way again,” Edwards announced to whoever would listen.
They were now spread out more. Some officers provided a line of resistance along the perimeter of the airfield, unseen, while Edwards and his two minions, along with Burke and Jones, had taken shelter in the entrance to on old bomb shelter.
“He’s going to make a run for it with the hostage,” Burke said, almost to himself.
“Do you know where?” Edwards asked, pulling out a hastily downloaded map and aerial photos of the site.”
“I can’t be sure. He might just be brave enough or mental enough to walk right past us.” Burke looked towards the complex, checked his body armour was secure and shook his head. “Fuck it. I’m going in.” He grabbed a radio before anyone could protest and began moving along the edge of the runway bordering the breeze block wall. Edwards pursued him without much consideration. He had expected some kind of resistance. This was his shooting match after all. Not that he had much control right now. It was starting to look like a house party that had been advertised on facebook and exploded.
They reached the corner of the security wall and the bit he thought might be the hardest. As soon as his head went over the top he might be a goner. He was reminded of the final scene in Blackadder Goes Forth, where after months of trying to avoid it they have to go over the top. He hoped this would not be his final scene.