I got the first six warheads loaded without too much difficulty. But all the time my body temperature was rising; inside that damned suit I was being boiled alive. I could hardly breathe, and there came a point when the volume of sweat on the inside of the visor made it impossible to see what I was doing. There was no way I could continue with the helmet on, so I ripped it off and threw it to one side. My hair was plastered to my head, and rivulets were coursing down my neck and back, but the return of fresh air revived me, and I carried on.
The ninth warhead completed the first layer across the floor of the wagon. They didn’t fit together neatly, like pencils, but were held apart by their fins. At this rate, I could see, there were going to be five layers, the top one at the height of my head.
‘Time, Jason?’ I shouted.
‘Fourteen eleven.’
Christ! I ran back to the stack, snatched the warhead next in line, cradled it, scuttled across, decanted it, ran back. Some of the casings felt rough and puckered; brown spots showed where rust had pitted the surface. Three more like that, and I was panting desperately. The chemical smell in the air seemed to be accumulating in my mouth, producing an acid taste and making my throat sore.
With the score at fifteen, there came a sudden shout from the cab.
‘What is it?’
‘Radio, sah. They seen the convoy.’
I ran out into the open, stood on the step below the open driver’s door and reached up for the mike.
‘Green One, say again.’
‘Green Two.’ Now it was Pav on the other end. ‘The fuckers are in sight.’
‘How many?’
‘Two Gaz jeeps at the front. Then three big wagons — four- or five-tonners. Another jeep at the back.’
‘What are you planning?’
‘We’re going to let them come nearly to the junction, then hit the lead vehicle.’
‘Roger. Who’s on the five-oh?’
‘Phil.’
‘Great.’
‘How are things your end?’
‘Tough. But we’re winning. Loaded a third already. Done in twenty minutes.’
‘Roger. Wait out.’
I wasn’t going to tell him about the Russians’ death. That could wait.
Jason pulled the mike back up on its springy, coiled lead.
‘Water!’ I croaked. ‘Throw me a bottle.’
He lobbed one out. I filled my mouth, swilled the water round and spat it out, then drained the rest at a single swallow. The liquid revived me and I tore back to work, pulling, lifting, carrying, loading, shoving.
I’d just shifted the twenty-fifth warhead, clearing the third row down, when Jason shouted again. This time, when I emerged, he yelled just one word: ‘Shooting!’
I stood by the cab door and listened. Even without a commentary I could tell what was happening from the noise exploding over the open radio link. The .50 was firing in short bursts, four or five rounds at a time, its heavy hammer roaring out of our loudspeaker. In my mind I could see the green tracer, every fifth round, looping away into the distance, to curl in and smack the target.
My first call went unanswered, but at the second Stringer came on the air.
‘What’s on?’ I demanded.
‘Phil’s taken out the first jeep. It’s on fire in the middle of the road. There are guys deploying into the bush.’
‘Any incoming?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Keep at it.’ I ran back to work and pitched into the fourth layer. The heat was threatening to finish me. I was sweating as I’d never sweated in my life.
With nearly the whole of that layer on board, and only twelve warheads to go, I heard another yell from Jason. The cry caught me in mid-carry. I didn’t dare drop my burden on the ground, and I took several seconds to slide it into place before I could hustle outside. Seconds before I hit the open air, there came a burst of fire — not over the radio, but live, from close at hand.
‘What the hell’s that?’
I rushed into the open and called again. Jason didn’t answer. The blaze of sun made me screw up my eyes. When I opened them again, the first thing I saw was a third body lying in the open some fifty yards off, a black body, clad in DPMs, dead or dying, but still twitching, with a weapon on the deck beside it. The guy’s legs were moving as he tried to run. For a horrible moment I thought it was Jason. Just as I realised the DPMs were the wrong colour, lighter than his, another burst clattered out from above my head.
My 203 was in the cab of the vehicle. With rounds going down, I wasn’t going to expose myself by climbing up to get it. Instead, I dropped flat on the ground, wriggled inside one of the wagon’s big wheels and lay still in a pool of sweat, eyeballing the approach to the site. How in hell had somebody managed to bypass the pinkie and penetrate this far into the training area?
At the other end of the radio link the battle was still raging. At our end the body in my view stopped moving. Then, from somewhere high above me, came Jason’s voice: ‘Geordie, sah!’
‘Here!’ I called. ‘Under the wagon. Where are you?’
‘I come down.’
I waited a few moments, then heard scuffling noises as he slithered off the rocks above the doorway.
‘Who was it?’ I asked from my prone position.
‘Two men. Coming for truck. I kill both.’
‘Brilliant. Where’s number two?’
‘Up top.’ He pointed.
‘Are you sure that was all?’
‘Don’t know, sah. I saw two. Nobody more.’
‘I bet they came in the chopper on its first run,’ I said. ‘Probably left to guard the site. Let’s hope no more of the bastards are lurking about.’
I eased myself out from under the truck and took a quick look round. I wasn’t going to waste time checking the bodies.
‘Go back up where you were,’ I said. ‘You’ll be safer hidden in the rocks than sitting in the cab. There’s only a dozen warheads to go. Ten minutes, and we’ll be on our way.’
I never got through that last dozen. I shifted another five, gasping with the effort, but the task took me to the point of collapse. My stack in the back of the wagon had risen to head height, and I only just managed to lift the fifth missile on to the top. The strain left me totally drained, hardly able to walk.
Mental pressure was increased by the sounds of battle pouring from the radio loudspeaker. Even from inside the cavern I could hear heavy firing and the occasional loud explosion. The racket made me desperate to get moving. Further pressure derived from the fact that the last shell I had loaded was slippery with the clear liquid I’d noticed when I first saw the cache. The remaining seven were coated in transparent crystals. It looked as though the casings had cracked when the wooden shelves crumbled, and some of the contents had leaked. No way was I going to touch those faulty specimens. I told myself that they couldn’t be serviceable, so it wouldn’t matter if Muende did get his hands on them. He’d never be able to use them.
I slammed up the tail-board, and tried to shout, ‘Jason!’ All that came out was a squeak. I cleared my throat, and called again. ‘That’s it! Let’s go!’
I didn’t bother closing the door of the silo. Instead, I threw the padlock away into thick bush, scrambled up into the driving seat and started the engine. The moment Jason slipped into the other seat, I let out the clutch and set off.
‘Okay, sah?’ He shot me an apprehensive look.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I lied. ‘No problem.’