Kara’s Game. Gordon Stevens

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      ‘You said Ian Morris took a patrol in in November?’

      ‘A ground team to laser in aid drops.’ Fielding took the file from his day sack. ‘Nothing much to help you.’ He gave them the report anyway. Outside the snow had stopped and the sky had begun to clear.

      Finn skimmed the report and handed it to Janner. ‘The local interpreter, any way we can use her?’

      ‘Probably not. With any luck you won’t need to go anywhere near the town.’

      It was four-thirty, the dark suddenly closing in outside. They checked the equipment again, and confirmed again the radio frequencies on which they would be transmitting. It was fifteen minutes to five. On the LZ on the edge of the camp the Sea King pilot began his pre-flight checks. In low and fast tonight, himself and the other crew wearing night viewing gear, get the hell out as quickly as they could. The load master was outside, looking at him. He held up one finger – engine one starting. Two fingers – engine two. Both engines running. He ran through his cockpit checks then swivelled his fingers at the loadie, saw the thumbs up – all clear left and right. He released the rotor brake and the blades began to turn. In the shadows at the edge of the LZ the eight men appeared, bergens on their backs and weapons in their hands, thin white suits over their combat clothes – not pure white, because pure white stood out in the snow, but off-white and smudged with paint, tape round their weapons to break the shapes.

      The load master jumped back in, waited for the pilot’s order, then gave a thumbs up to the group to come forward. The sky above was clear, the first stars showing, though it was still too early for the quarter moon. The two patrols came forward, moving quickly, climbed in and sat on the seats opposite the door, bergens on their backs, weapons across their laps, and PNGs on their heads. The loadie gave Finn a helmet with built-in communications so he could hear the conversations between pilot and crew. Finn pulled off the PNG and put it on. The Sea King was in darkness, no interior or exterior lights. The loadie closed the door, and the Sea King rose from the ice and disappeared into the black. Flying south, away from the Maglaj – Tesanj pocket, then turning west then east on a deception course.

      Land on or near the gravel road between Maglaj and Tesanj – Finn rehearsed the procedure again. Door already open. Land, then out fast, the cab hardly touching the ground, the pilot pulling away the second the last man was out. Maintain position, see what the opposition was up to, then separate, his patrol moving off first, then Janner’s. Patrol order, guns carried in the ready position and with safeties off, and the countryside varying shades of green in the night viewing goggles.

      They had been airborne thirty minutes, were flying low now, the sides of the valleys above them.

      ‘Two minutes,’ the pilot told the load master.

      Two minutes – the loadie held two fingers up. Finn took off the helmet and put the PNG back on. In the cockpit the pilot and navigator were leaning forward, eyes straining for the changes in terrain. Behind them the loadie pulled open the door and leaned out, also checking.

      ‘Radio mast one thousand metres at two o’clock.’ The navigator to the pilot.

      ‘Factory chimney two hundred metres at nine o’clock.’ The loadie.

      ‘Give them the one minute,’ the pilot told the load master. The loadie swung back in and held up one finger.

      ‘Confirm location,’ the pilot asked the navigator.

      ‘Location confirmed.’ The navigator was still staring ahead.

      ‘Thirty seconds,’ the pilot told them. The rotors were thudding and the wind was gusting through the open door.

      ‘Tail clear,’ the loadie told the pilot.

      The Sea King descended fast and hard.

      Stand by – the loadie swung half in and mouthed the words at them.

      The wheels hit the ground. ‘Out,’ the pilot told the load master. The loadie turned. Go – he mouthed at them. Go – his thumbs up told them. They were already moving past him, Finn’s team first, then Janner’s. Fanning to the sides of the Sea King in an all-round defence and looking for the enemy, looking for the trap. The blades were screaming above them and the snow was swirling round them. The Sea King lifted off into the blackness. Good cab, Finn thought, good driver. He rose, Ken and Steve and Jim rising with him, nodded to Janner, and began the walk in.

      

      Two of his team were beginning to crack and MacFarlane’s own nerves were stretched beyond what he had ever before experienced. If this is what the shelling was doing to them, then God only knew what it was doing to the civilians who weren’t supposed to be used to this sort of thing.

      The UNMO team were still in their base, crouched over coffee and cigarettes.

      At around three in the morning there had been a slight lull in the express trains of the artillery shells and the spiralling screaming of the mortars. At six the intensity had picked up again, at seven he had filed his latest situation report via the HF channel through the radio net at Vitez. At eight, as the new day mixed from black to grey to the cold light of winter, he had spoken on the secure line to General Thorne, informing him of the situation, reporting that his team were under severe pressure, and asking whether there had been any Serbian response to the United Nations request of the previous day.

      There had been no response, he was informed. FAC teams were in position, however. Thorne was waiting for their assessment, plus confirmation that the offending gun positions had been identified. Once this was received, and if the bombardment had not stopped or the Serbs had not responded, then an air strike request would be formally submitted.

      

      Jovan was still asleep. Kara checked that he was as warm as he could be, and crawled from beneath the bed. Her head thumped with pain and she felt sick and exhausted. In the sky over Maglaj she heard the sound of another express train. Please God, may it end today, please God, may Adin come home. Please may she and her son and her husband come through all this alive and together.

      Yesterday she and Jovan had finished the beans, so today she would have to run the gauntlet of the bridge and the shells. Either that or she would have to dig into the supplies of potatoes and carrots she and Adin had grown last summer; but the sacks were already almost empty and the winter was not even half over. She pulled on an extra coat, laced up her boots, waited until another shell had fallen, and went outside. The cold took her breath away. She had two minutes before the next shell, she told herself, three if she was lucky. She grabbed a handful of wood from under the cover at the side of the garden, went back inside, and dumped it by the stove. Wait till after the next shell, she reminded herself. Get on with it, she thought; she had been cowering under the fear of the shells for too long. She went outside again. The bucket by the well was frozen to the ground; she kicked it loose, dropped it down the shaft, and heard the clank as it struck the ice. She pulled it up and dropped it again, heard the ice crack and felt the bucket fill. Heard the whine of the mortar in the sky and knew she should have waited. Froze like the water had frozen then heard the thump in the new town.

      When she went back inside Jovan was looking at her. She kissed him and lit the stove. Tonight she shouldn’t let the fire go out, she told herself; she had enough wood to keep it in. And if she ran out she could collect more from the woods on the hillsides above the house. Except that the woods might be mined – she wasn’t sure, but Adin had told her to be careful, not to go anywhere near them. So she couldn’t go to the woods, but she could salvage some scraps from the remnants СКАЧАТЬ