A whole host of questions flooded Ben’s mind, but at that moment they were surrounded by their captors. ‘Walk,’ Amir told them. He was still holding his gun, but now he had something else strapped to his body: the suitcase bomb, which he carried on his back. It looked cumbersome and rather heavy — the veins on Amir’s neck stood out from the strain of carrying it — but portable nevertheless. The very sight of it made Ben shudder.
They walked in single file — two of the terrorists in front of Ben and Aarya, the rest of them bringing up the rear. ‘Keep close to me,’ Ben whispered as they walked. ‘Maybe we can—’
‘Silence!’
The ground was treacherous. Both Ben and Aarya stumbled as their feet became trapped in unseen holes; the soil underfoot became marshy and wet, then hard and dry as they walked alongside a high field of some crop Ben didn’t recognize. All around it was silent — just the footsteps of their little party disturbing the night and once, chillingly, the howl of a dog echoing through the air. They’d been walking for a good fifteen minutes when they came to an area thick with compound walls, much like the ones where they had stayed on the previous two nights. There was one big difference, however: these walls bore the scars of battle. Holes of all different sizes had been blasted into them: small ones where, Ben assumed, rifle fire had sprayed against them; and larger ones, where heavier artillery had battered the compounds.
Amazingly, though, the walls were still standing and it was towards one of them that Ben and Aarya were led. There was a low wooden door in the middle of it; their captors opened it, then pushed them through. A dog howled again, closer this time — and Ben realized that it was in this very compound. Suddenly it came scampering up to them — a thin, poor-looking thing that sniffed around their feet as though they were the first human contact it had had for months. It soon scuttled away though, tail between its legs and whimpering, as a huge explosion rocked the sky, shaking the ground beneath them.
Amir removed the suitcase bomb from his back, propping it against the inside wall like it was just a hitchhiker’s rucksack. Then he turned and looked around the compound. A group of men — nine or ten of them — were waiting for him. They were all dressed in Afghan robes and they approached the new arrivals with smiles. There was much embracing and a good deal of chattering that Ben couldn’t understand, but that didn’t matter. His attention was firmly fixed on something else.
It was difficult to make it out in the darkness, and he had to squint. There was no mistaking what it was, however: a vast array of weaponry, much of it propped up against the far wall of the compound in the same way that Amir had propped up the suitcase bomb. It was an impressive arsenaclass="underline" rocket launchers, rifles, a big hunk of metal that looked to Ben’s untutored eye like a machine gun. And then there were boxes, piled high, which he supposed were full of ammo.
Ben and Aarya exchanged a glance. ‘I don’t reckon they use that sort of gear to shoot birds,’ he breathed.
Aarya shook her head, then they looked back over at the others. Their captors’ chatter had become more animated and they stood around the bomb, pointing at it like it was some precious artefact. Ben then heard Amir’s voice above the others, and the men all turned to look across at them. It was clear that he and Aarya were now the subject of conversation.
Ben stepped nervously back, but that only took him deeper into the compound. Suddenly Amir barked a short order, and the two of them were immediately surrounded. Ben’s instinct told him to run, but he knew there was no getting away and it was only moments before he felt strong hands on him as they were yet again manhandled into a dark room on the edge of the compound, where the door was locked.
Once more they were left alone.
Very alone.
And very, very scared.
Chapter Eleven
Platoon commander Andy Bishop groped in the dark. By his bed — if you could call it that — lay his helmet, to which he had strapped a head torch. He switched on the torch. The area around his bed became flooded in a dusty red light. No white light allowed here — too easy to see from a distance.
Immediately there was the sound of the men around him stirring and groaning. ‘Morning, campers,’ Andy said in a voice made gravelly by the Afghan dust. ‘Rise and shine. Time for a stroll on this lovely Thursday morning.’
His gear was neatly squared away beside him and he started to put it on. Desert fatigues, body armour, SA80 rifle which he had meticulously cleaned only hours before. All around him the members of his platoon arose; in that red light they looked like zombies, but Andy knew that in two minutes they’d be transformed from sleepy men to highly alert fighting machines. And that was what they needed to be if they were going to patrol deep into the green zone of Sangin.
Minutes later Andy was boiling water on a small stove and making a much-needed cup of tea. As the water bubbled he heard the sound, on the opposite side of the base, of some vehicles starting up. That would be the fire support unit. It was their job to take position in the high ground nearby and keep watch over the green zone with their high-powered viewing devices and heavy, accurate weaponry. If Andy’s platoon got into trouble, the fire support guys would be able to use their guns to hit the enemy. Not a bad insurance policy to have, Andy always thought.
They had been briefed the previous evening at 1730 hours. From the base they would head north, directly into the green zone. This area was an enemy stronghold and there had been a lot of activity there over the past forty-eight hours. The purpose of their operation was to quell that activity. To make the enemy know that their presence would not be tolerated.
In other words, they were out looking for a fight.
It was still dark when they prepared to leave: twenty men, heavily tooled-up with weapons, communications systems, ammunition and litres of water. There was a low buzz of conversation. Not nervous, exactly. Just prepared for any contact that came their way.
‘Ready, Andy?’
It was Major Graves, the commanding officer.
‘Ready, sir.’
‘All right, then. Let’s take it to them.’
The wide metal gates of the base slid open, and the men stepped outside into the town of Sangin, all their senses hyper-alert.
The darkness could go only halfway to blanketing the destruction all around them. Buildings had been flattened; there were great craters in the streets where artillery shells had landed. Once, Andy knew, this part of town had been lively and bustling. Not any more. It would be impossible to live here — impossible because of the constant fighting, and because all the houses had been destroyed. No wonder so many of the townsfolk had fled.
They walked steadily north, their boots crunching on the stony earth, taking care not to wander too close to each other. Bunch up and they would present an easy target for any brave sniper that might be hidden behind a mound of rubble. Andy kept his gun ready. You seldom got any warning that a contact with the enemy was about to start, so you had to be constantly vigilant.
Somewhere, a dog howled. The sound disappeared eerily into the night sky. The men continued to march.
Dawn. Just a glimmer of light in the sky at first. To Andy’s right, the shell of a building that was once a school. The only thing you would learn there now would be about the destruction of war, and that was something the people of Afghanistan knew enough about already.
It always surprised Andy how quickly the green zone arrived. It was as if someone had drawn a line: on one side of the line was the bombed-out remains of the town; on the other side were thick green fields, trees and trickling streams. It made Andy think of mermaids — beautiful creatures who entranced sailors and tempted them to their deaths. The green zone was beautiful too, in its way. But set foot inside it and you’d be taking your life in your hands.