Serpent Sting. Toni Grant

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СКАЧАТЬ answered her list of questions quickly and with precision. Checking the dive watch strapped on his wrist, he stood abruptly before she could ask another.

      “Time to go,” he said, dwarfing her.

      Two PMV Bushmaster vehicles waited. The first troop carrier contained civilians and soldiers. The medic led her to the open door.

      He glanced down at the open blank page of the journalist’s notebook. She’d scribbled ‘Outside the Wire’ as a heading. He wondered briefly what story would follow. A mobile phone, set to camera mode, rested between her gloved hand and the notebook.

      He paused, looked inside the truck and asked gruffly, “Everybody here?”

      “Listen up for orders,” he started. “Today we are travelling to the rebuilt Tarin Kowt community hospital. There you will have a brief tour of the facilities and the opportunity to talk with senior medical staff. We will then return directly to the base. We will travel in convoy formation. The two PMVs will move from this location, travel down route Echo and arrive at hospital entrance B. At this point, I will lead you through the facilities. Then we will return via route Charlie. It is imperative that you stay within the group at all times whilst we are outside the wire. Under every circumstance, you will follow instructions given by Sergeant Fergus or myself.

      “Now, I see you all have mobile phones. You may take photographs of the interior of the hospital only. You may record interviews on your phones once approval from the interviewee has been given. Covert recordings will immediately be destroyed. In this case, your managers will be informed as to why you and your media outlet are no longer welcome at our base.

      Sinclair paused eyeing each person intently.

      “Please use your heads. This is a military operation. There are people, locations and tactics that remain highly confidential and support our continued success within this region. Any breach of these codes would put not only yourselves in danger but also the local community members and the soldiers here to protect you. Does everyone understand this? Am I making myself clear?

      Sinclair paused again.

      “Cameramen, you will be under the direction of Sergeant Willis. She will be your go-to for confirmation of suitable footage. Sergeant Willis, raise your hand,” he asked and continued. “Sergeant Fergus will command PMV One and I will command PMV Two. Any questions?”

      Without waiting for a response, he shut the door on the group. They reminded him of wide-eyed school children.

      Sinclair strode to the second vehicle. It was loaded with a mixture of supplies and personnel, including two Dutch medics and a cameraman. He nodded a familiar greeting. The vehicle was at capacity. He signalled readiness to the commander of the lead vehicle, subconsciously, touching his hip and the security of his own 9mm pistol.

      They waited. On command, the journey into town began.

      CHAPTER 2

      The two vehicles travelled the specified route Echo, protected and supported at each end by an armed response protection team. Through the earpiece, a team member announced a warning. Sinclair listened intently. The radio conversation centred on a native man riding a motorbike. He was travelling parallel to the Australian convoy, at distance, and appeared to have an Icom radio hanging over his shoulder.

      Sinclair watched closely through the window as the convoy stopped at an intersection. The suspect motorbike rider continued towards the township.

      “What’s happening?” the cameraman asked nervously.

      “Suspect intersection,” a Dutch doctor responded.

      A small number of soldiers carefully dismounted, conducting their five metre drills. They moved out twenty-five metres, looking for small disturbances in the soil and roadside structure. At the same time, they visually scanned positions surrounding the convoy for hidden threats. Within the confined space of the Bushmaster, Gunner Mason assumed his position and through his magnifier site overlooked the front of the vehicles. Metal detectors were deployed. This intersection had improvised explosive device history. A suspect traveller and gut feeling prompted cautious behaviour.

      Sinclair strained, listening for the sounds that could literally mean life or death. Through binoculars, he scanned the abandoned buildings and shifting grasses of the small farm beside them. A number of local villagers stopped to watch the convoy and the soldiers.

      With multiple hiding places and little room for manoeuvring, it was the scene of a botched ambush only last month. Sinclair knew the reconnaissance groups were in position. He knew they’d already have secured the area with the help of their dog. Yet, something was gnawing at him—a gut feeling he couldn’t ignore.

      It was too quiet. And too still. Sinclair didn’t like it. As the local people began to disperse, his gut churned. In his experience, this was a sure sign of attack. He glanced towards the porthole at the top of the vehicle and then the door, fighting the urge to dismount and join the others in the clearance patrol.

      After a tense wait, the convoy was cleared to proceed.

      The first Bushmaster rolled forward. A cracking blast shattered the silence. The truck took the brunt under the front wheel and the V-shaped hull, damaging the tyre on the rim. It flipped, almost to the side, and landed heavily on all four wheels in a small ditch beside the road. Later reports would show the hastily prepared device had only partially exploded. The occupants were lucky.

      A brief moment of stunned silence shattered as unmistakable rapid machine gun fire bounced around the armoured sides. From inside the truck, the noise was a deafening ting ting as bullets rained on the PMV. Gunner Mason retaliated. From the mount atop the vehicle, hot spent shell casings smashed onto the interior floor and occupants.

      Sinclair sprang into action. Scanning the windscreen towards the disabled vehicle, he devised a quick plan. Beside him the disembarked patrol scrambled and mounted a counter attack.

      Another ambush. This blast was meant to hold them there. The soldiers peeled out of the first PMV vehicle, taking dominating positions and securing the civilians, while under heavy fire.

      Unbelievably the motorbike rider returned to take a look. Realising his mistake, he gathered speed heading towards a small clump of trees not far from them. Sinclair watched him drop in the dust as he took a bullet. The motorbike continued on for a few meters before falling to the ground on its side.

      Sinclair radioed the disabled vehicle. “This is Captain McCrae. Sergeant, are there any injuries?”

      “Only the driver. His foot is trapped.”

      “Copy. Stay in the vehicle. Stand by for instruction.”

      “Copy that.”

      Sinclair knew they were wasting precious time playing sitting ducks for a well-placed rocket-propelled grenade. He radioed the field commander.

      Inside the second PMV, the cameraman started working, setting the small camera to record. Through the wide front window, directly behind Sinclair’s massive shoulders, he had a direct view, and with the sound switched on, the journalist recorded the vision and conversation between Sinclair and the soldier in the first truck.

      “Get me up closer to that vehicle, Private. As close as you can … follow those wheel tracks,” Sinclair ordered his driver. “I’m bringing everyone across.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ