It took a while before the throbbing from the cuts on their feet began to increase – which was not all bad since it indicated that their circulations were returning. After the meal both men fell into a deep sleep despite the pain. When they woke up at dawn, having missed the first rendezvous, they decided to get going for the next later that morning despite it being daylight. They could take it nice and easy, get there by dark the following day and continue the rest of the operation. Walking would be painful but, considering the suffering they had already endured on the selection course, the fact that this was the final exercise and the last hurdle would make it that much easier, knowing they could rest all they wanted at the end of it.
Jack and Stratton remained close friends from that day on and five years later Stratton was best man at Jack’s wedding. As he watched Jack tear across the desert on the old Russian motor-bike towards the track junction with a force of militia bearing down on him he knew that Jack would not give up until he had succeeded in his task – and that was what worried him most.
Stratton forced himself to look away to concentrate on his own task as the train closed on the thousand-metre point of the track. He pulled the laptop in front of him, moved the cursor down the column of devices, highlighted one of the codes, and positioned two fingers over the two detonation keys that had to be pressed simultaneously. He looked up to check the train’s location and as it reached the point he hit the keys.
Stratton watched the coupling between the second and third carriage flash brightly as it blew apart. A second later a thunderous boom engulfed the hide and echoed across the desert.
Forouf was in the middle of a conversation with his associates when the blast shook the carriage to its wheels as it hammered the rear door from its hinges, throwing it into the long, narrow space where it slammed into a row of seats. He was first to recover and hurried to the gaping hole in time to see the carriage behind separating from his. Several of his fighters appeared, bunched in the opposite doorway, staring helplessly at the widening gap as their master gradually moved away from them.
Alif Hammad, one of Forouf ’s associates, had dropped to the floor to cover his head with his hands and remained waiting for a devastating assault that he expected to follow any second. When it did not come he got to his knees and looked out of a window to find nothing but the open desert. He had been waiting for an attack since leaving Mosul and prayed that it was not a cock-up. He did not care if they killed Forouf in the process although the man was of some importance. But Hammad was particularly concerned about his own well-being.
Stratton highlighted another device code on his laptop and hit the keys.
Forouf watched in horror as another explosion beneath the trailing carriage blew the wheels off. Its front, now unsupported, dropped. Several of his militia fell from the doorway onto the track to be instantly grated, then the carriage spun sideways and flipped over. The occupants were brutally tossed as if in the spin cycle of a washing machine before the carriage disintegrated and they were thrown away or crushed beneath the tumbling undercarriage. The trucks following behind completed the destruction as they ploughed through what was left of the carriage.
Forouf pushed angrily back into his carriage and went from side to side, searching through the windows for the enemy who had done this. But because of the angle he could not see the motorbike cutting across the front of the train.
The locomotive driver and his engineer had heard the explosions behind them that shook the train and were straining to look back out of the windows at either side of the cab. They saw the final destruction of the carriage and turned in to look at each other, shocked and completely clueless as to what they should do. The engineer then saw the motorbike ahead as it arrived at the rail junction. He shouted for the driver to look. It only served to add to their dilemma, leaving them with just two options: stop, or keep going. But since they had no communications with the boss two carriages away and were scared to make a decision that could get them shot they agreed to do nothing and keep going. One thing they were sure of: this was not a good day.
Jack leaped off the bike as it slid to the ground and hurried to the charge on the outside of the rail up against the end of the ramrod that levered the track change. It was exactly how he had left it and he studied it quickly without touching anything, unable to identify the fault. A distant crack and another explosion turned his attention to the train as a ball of smoke rose from behind the engine. Then he looked back down at the charge.
The door at the front of Forouf ’s carriage blew in as the coup -ling between his carriage and the leading one disintegrated, separating it from the rest of the train. The wind immediately ripped through uninterrupted with no doors now at either end and as Forouf hurried forward to see what this new destruction was he saw several of his men lying dead in the doorway of the leading carriage as it moved away.
Confusion, frustration, anger and fear brought him to the boil as the locomotive gradually pulled away and one thing became obvious to him. He had been deliberately isolated from his men and the engine.
Forouf hurried to the front of his carriage as some of his men appeared at the rear of the one moving away from him. ‘Awkef al qetar!’ he yelled to one of them who responded by running back through the carriage to the other end where he opened the door to reveal the rear of the locomotive. The man jumped across the coupling and grabbed at the handle of the door that led into the engine compartment but it was locked. He banged on the window and shouted in futile competition with the wind, the clattering wheels and the throb of the engines. He was joined by a colleague who nudged him and indicated the ladder that led up onto the roof of the locomotive.
Jack gave up on the charge and with no time to replace it he cursed loudly at his bad luck or ineptitude. Whichever, it was his fault. There was nothing more for it than to throw the junction switch manually. The only good news was that at least the job would get done since he’d had niggling doubts about the charge actually achieving the desired effect in the first place.
He dropped to the ground as the train closed on him and glanced up at the cab as it went past to see the engineer in the window looking down at him. As the back of the locomotive shot by he saw men climbing onto its roof. A second later the back of the carriage passed and he jumped to his feet, grabbed the heavy track-change lever and heaved on it. But the rusty joint was tight and barely moved.
Forouf ’s carriage was seconds away.
Jack slammed a foot against a sleeper and with a supreme effort, his shoulder behind it, the lever started to move.
Suddenly, bullets peppered the ground around him, zinging off the rails and slamming into the wooden sleepers. Jack glanced up in mid-effort to see the fire coming from the rear of the carriage attached to the locomotive. His instincts were screaming at him to take cover but Forouf’s carriage was almost upon him and, ignoring the shots that were fortunately poorly aimed, he invoked every ounce of his strength. An explosion suddenly destroyed the back of the locomotive, killing the men who were firing at him and Jack knew that Stratton had seen the shooting. He yelled out loud and as his strength peaked the lever gave in and the ramrod shunted the internal rack across, an instant before the front wheels of the carriage touched it.