'Well you'd better get it moving, quickly,' Kennedy said, his voice suddenly tense, even a little high-pitched. 'X-rays approaching.'
Will turned his head quickly. Sure enough, in the distance, highlighted by the silvery light of the moon, he could just make out figures coming towards them. Impossible to tell how many. But enough. A hundred metres away — and counting.
'How long till we get started?' he asked Drew, tersely.
'Impossible to say,' Drew replied. 'Could be a few minutes.'
Even before Drew had finished talking, Will was opening up the weapons stash. The Minimi 5.56 mm light machine gun was there waiting for him. 'Cover me while I set it up,' he told Kennedy.
Kennedy nodded. 'I'm counting about twenty of the fuckers!' he shouted. As Will pulled an ammunition belt out of the weapons stash, he started firing single shots from his Kalashnikov. It wouldn't be enough to overcome the number of enemy that were approaching, but it would slow them down and give Will time to set up the machine gun. Clutching the weaponry, he jumped down from the back of the truck and crawled along the ground, while Kennedy continued to fire off an occasional shot from his AK.
There was a trench on the side of the road. Will rolled into it, then opened up the V-shaped bipod at the end of the gun's barrel before feeding the small ammo belt into the chamber.
Behind him, the truck's engine coughed, them fell silent again.
Will heaved the machine gun over the edge of the trench.
It sank slightly in the snow, but he could feel the bipod hitting firm ground. His eyes squinted involuntarily as he aimed the weapon in the direction of the enemy. And then he fired.
The harsh chugging of the weaponry filled the air and the gun shook as the ammo belt rattled through it. A spray of gunfire showered into the approaching enemy and Will watched with satisfaction as about half of them fell to the ground like grass bending in the wind.
But that still left at least ten and they were approaching relentlessly.
He held fire. Behind him, the engine of the truck had roared into life. Drew was expertly massaging the throttle to warm the engine without letting it stall and Will heard Kennedy shouting at him. 'Get back in the truck! I'll cover you!' A shot from the Kalashnikov rang through the air.
Will pulled the machine gun towards him and crawled back to the truck. As soon as he climbed into the vehicle, he felt it lurch backwards as Drew reversed around in a tight turning circle, so that they were pointing the right way again. 'It's like a fucking zombie movie out there!' Kennedy yelled. The snow chains crunched noisily into the powder, but they did their job well. The truck held to the road and in an instant they were moving.
But there was still gunfire and it wasn't coming from Kennedy, who was facing the wrong side of the road now. With a roar, Will smashed the butt of the machine gun through one of the windows at the back of the truck, then turned the weapon around and started firing indiscriminately in the direction of the not-yet-dead enemy.
Latifa shrank back; she might even have screamed, Will wasn't sure. His whole body shook with the force of the weapon as, in this last, desperate burst of gunfire, he struggled to make sure that they were not scuppered by a stray enemy bullet bursting into one of their tyres — or one of their heads.
Whether he hit anyone he didn't know; but eventually, Drew turned a corner and they found themselves out of the range of the enemy.
Will eased his finger off the trigger, silencing the noise of gunfire. He was breathing heavily, panting almost. They all were — even Latifa, whose face was an undisguised picture of stress and panic.
The truck trundled along, as fast as Drew could safely make it travel. Back on the road — they hoped — to some kind of safety.
ELEVEN
'We should cuff her.'
Kennedy was glancing over his shoulder at Latifa, who sat huddled in the back, opposite Will. Her body was shaking and Will worried that she was too frail to make it to Kandahar. He put that thought from his mind: the woman was no good to him dead. Slowly she glanced at the SAS man in the passenger seat and looked silently at Kennedy for a full ten seconds before speaking. 'Where is it you think that I am wanting to escape to?' she asked in faltering English.
'I don't know and I don't care,' Kennedy replied, brutally. 'But we've already made the mistake of trusting a stranger once today and we're coming back one man down.' He threw a set of Plasticuffs to Will, who caught them in one hand.
Latifa turned her attention to him. It was only now that Will took in her features, though he was aware that she must have looked a lot different before the Taliban got their hands on her. Her skin was dark, of course, and she had long black hair, matted and greasy, that seemed to cling to the side of her face. She might have been pretty once, but any prettiness had long been beaten out of her.
And she stank. Jesus, she stank. A fetid, pungent smell that filled the whole car.
'You think I wish to return to those animals?' she asked. There was no anger in her voice; she just sounded slightly bemused. Thinking back to the horrific state in which he had found her and the sight of the wounds on her feet, Will didn't blame her.
'No,' he said, gruffly. 'I don't think you'll be going back to them. But I don't know for sure that you'll want to stay with us.' He grabbed her wrists a little more roughly than he intended to, then strapped the Plasticuffs around them.
Latifa accepted being bound without a struggle. It was almost as if this were part of the natural order of things. 'Do you know my brother?' she asked.
Will looked sharply at her. She was gazing directly at him.
The truck trundled over an especially uneven bit of road. He waited for it to level out before he answered.
'No,' he said, doing his best to keep his voice level. 'But I know of him.'
'You said he sent you to rescue me.'
Will could feel Kennedy's gaze on him, but he ignored it. 'Something like that,' he told Latifa evasively.
'Ah,' Latifa nodded. 'Something like that.' She smiled sadly, then looked out of the back of the truck. Somehow, Will could tell that she knew he was lying.
He changed the subject. 'We'll get you medical help when we reach our destination.'
'And where is our destination?' Latifa asked, softly. Her voice had a sing-song quality; close your eyes, Will thought, and you wouldn't know the pain she was in.
'You'll find out.'
She turned to look at him again and Will found her piercing eyes made him feel quite uncomfortable. 'Yes,' she said. 'I will find out.' And then, almost to herself, 'We all find out our destination, sooner or later.'
The journey back to Kandahar air base was an uncomfortable one. The air was bitingly cold and now that some of the adrenaline that had been pumping through him had subsided, Will's body began to ache from the beating their Taliban captors had given them. All the way along their bumpy route back, he clutched the Minimi firmly. It seemed large and ungainly in the enclosed space of the truck, and the cold metal bit harshly into the chapped skin on his hands. But he didn't let go. He wanted to be prepared for any ambushes like the one they had encountered on the way. They'd had the element of surprise back then; now, though, with the back door of the truck blown away, the glass smashed in and the occupants all looking like they'd gone a few rounds with a grizzly, they would alert the attention of anyone they passed.
But they met no one, other than the frozen corpses of the men who had tried to attack them on the way in. They looked a lot less dangerous with their brains spread out around them, a dusting of white snow over their dark skin. Seeing their dead bodies lying there, however, Will could not help thinking of Anderson. He didn't want to imagine what the Taliban had done to his body. The chances of it having been buried with respect were slim. Will glanced over at Drew and Kennedy. Somehow, from their heavy silence, he knew they were having similar thoughts.