‘Carl, just get us round as quick as poss.’
‘I am, I am…’ The engines screamed as he ratcheted up the torque. The poor guy was doing his best.
‘Engaging,’ the Boss called.
A thousand metres would have to do. ‘Right, bring us in now, Carl.’ We needed to cover each other; we couldn’t have both aircraft turn tail on the enemy.
As Trigger’s Hellfire impacted on the far south-easterly building, Carl rolled us back to face the compound. I waited for Five Zero to get clear before aiming Hellfire Number 6 at the building immediately to the north of the one they had just destroyed. We were far too close to it, but had run out of choices. I squeezed the trigger 650 metres out then Carl wrenched us around in the tightest turn I had ever experienced.
As the Apache lurched upwards, I went from twelve stone to nearer thirty. My head, encased in its helmet, NVGs and monocle, immediately tried to bury itself between my shoulder muscles. I didn’t have time to brace myself. I didn’t even have time to reach for the steel grab handles on the roof frame. I threw my hands onto the console and held it fast.
My monocle drilled into my cheekbone as it pressed against the console’s brow pad. My harness clamped down on my shoulders and the survival jacket forced the chicken plate deep into my bladder. I felt the blood rush from my head to my feet, now pinned firmly to the floor. As the foam cushion in the seat was squashed flat and my haunches dug into the Kevlar base, I heard myself give a low moan. Carl rolled us back out level, and normal transmission was resumed.
Billy and Trigger were turning inbound for their next Hellfire. We were out of missiles, but needed to provide cover for them as they ran in. We didn’t get the chance.
‘Ugly Five Zero, Knight Rider. Intelligence from higher; there are enemy in a compound by the canal two hundred metres north of the original target. Stand by for grid.’
‘Ugly Five Zero. Running in from the west with Hellfire. Ugly Five One you take that target; I’ve got two buildings to finish off here.’
There was an awful lot of smoke and dust in the air so Carl swung us away from the hornets’ nest and over to the west side of the canal. It kept us out of Ugly Five Zero’s way and gave me a better view.
The new compound was the furthest north of a cluster of three. We held off 2,500 metres south-west of it, so as not to spook the enemy and to give Carl eyes on our wingman.
I picked up a series of white shapes on my FLIR and zoomed in: four men stood in a group against the high compound wall. One had what appeared to be an RPG alongside him. Two others had a moped in front of them. A donkey flicked its tail disconsolately in the top left-hand corner of the compound, thirty metres to their west. I needed to confirm that this was the correct target, but there wasn’t a single unique identifying feature.
‘Knight Rider, Ugly Five One. Can you confirm the target precisely?’
‘Ugly Five One, Knight Rider. I am told there are people in the north-east corner of the compound. You are cleared hot on those people.’
Yes, but who was telling him all this? And was I definitely looking in the right compound? Knight Rider couldn’t know; he didn’t have eyes on. The targets were getting progressively further from the main Taliban base. I didn’t want to open up on third party information without better clarification. If I was going to kill, I needed to be 100 per cent sure.
‘Ugly Five One. I need something to hang my hat on. Can you give me more information on the target?’
‘Ugly Five One, this is Knight Rider Five Six. Higher has cleared you hot onto that target.’
‘Ugly Five One. Give me a unique feature or tell me who’s buying my weapons. I must confirm that we are both looking at the same target.’
‘Ugly Five One, this is Maverick Zero Bravo. How do you read?’
Maverick Zero Bravo? Who the hell was that? No callsign I’d ever come across. The voice was short and clipped, its nationality indistinguishable; I put the accent as mid-Atlantic at best. I flicked through the top pages of my Black Brain; no joy there. Maverick wasn’t a callsign we’d been given for the operation. But it was impossible for him to be on the secure net if he wasn’t authorised so he had to be 100 per cent bona fide.
‘Maverick Zero Bravo, Ugly Five One. Lima Charlie. You, me?’
‘Maverick Zero Bravo. Lima Charlie also. Stand by… Can you see the donkey in the north-west corner of that compound?’
‘Ugly Five One. Affirm.’ But that didn’t mean a thing. Everyone had a bloody donkey!
‘Maverick Zero Bravo. Another man will join the four in the compound,’ the clipped voice continued. ‘He will walk past the donkey.’
Sure enough, a fifth man appeared a few seconds later and walked behind the donkey to join his companions. Bloody hell, that’s clever. It was good enough for me. Whoever and wherever he might be, Maverick Zero Bravo must have been controlling the Predator feed. He must have been ‘Higher’.
‘Ugly Five One will prosecute that target with rockets; stand by.’
‘Bring her in Carl; we’re going to use Flechettes.’
Carl rolled us out, pointed the nose north-east and began to line up early. I actioned the rockets. The steering cursor flashed up on my screen.
‘Four rockets. Come co-op, Carl.’
I positioned the crosshairs over the group of five and began to lase.
‘Match and shoot, Carl.’
‘Match and shoot… Stand by.’
‘Ugly Five One. Engaging with rockets.’
Carl steadied the rocket steering cursor on the crosshairs as the fifth man approached the moped.
‘Firing… Good set.’
Four bright orange flashes and four rockets whipped towards the centre of the crosshairs on the MPD. They looked good. Less than a thousand metres out, the white-hot cradles that had held the Flechette darts inside the rocket broke away, twisting and jinking through the air as the darts themselves flew at near hypersonic speed towards the target. Two seconds later 320 searing pinpricks blossomed across the north-eastern corner of the compound and its far wall. The five men hit the deck; we needed to nail them big time before they got busy with the RPG.
‘Smack on, Carl. Don’t break, we’re going for another four. Match and shoot.’
The rules stated that after one volley of rockets we must change heading to avoid colliding with the Flechette cradles. I was utterly mission focused; they were no longer a factor. I’d seen them drop off the screen.
Carl let rip again from 1,500 metres. The second concentration was even tighter – a ten-metre circle, max.
‘Good work, buddy. And another four.’
Carl pulled the final trigger at 1,100 metres.
The second the rockets streaked past our windows I flicked up for gun. Three final bursts from the cannon – slightly offset – would finish the job.
We had flown through the wake of twelve rockets and the environmental control system couldn’t handle the pollutant saturation. The acrid stink of rocket propellant seeped into the cockpit and burned into my nasal membrane. A few seconds later, we were almost over the compound. I zoomed in the FLIR for a thorough battle damage assessment (BDA).
The moped was in pieces, and the RPG launcher broken in two, with its warhead still in place. Where the five men had been, there were heat sources galore across the ground and wall, but none in any recognisable human shape. I found another heat source scanning left, but still standing on four legs and looking okay. The donkey had escaped unscathed, but the five men had been shredded.
‘Good arrows, good arrows,’ Maverick Zero Bravo purred.
‘Ugly Five One, target destroyed.’