They ran to the truck.
Voss reached into the fender well beneath the battery and tripped the starter solenoid.
Ignition. Engine roar echoed round the vaulted interior of the temple. The single, intact head lamp flickered and glowed steady. The beam shafted through swirling dust motes.
Half-dead soldiers lay sprawled over altar steps beneath the great, contemptuous bull god. They turned towards the sudden radiance, stirred slow and clumsy like they were waking from a long sleep.
‘Damn,’ said Voss. ‘Let’s go.’
They ran to the cab. They reversed away from the altar, swung round, and headed for daylight shafting through the temple doorway
A soldier crawled up the processional ramp to the temple entrance. Legs sheared at the thigh. Bone and ragged flesh. Tumorous tendrils trailed from each stump. He paused at the temple threshold, reached out like he was trying to grasp the approaching head beam. Tyres crushed his torso as the armoured truck rolled over his body and out into sunlight. His ribs crunched beneath the wheels. His skull crackled and splintered like glass ground under a heavy boot.
The truck rolled down the temple ramp. Two rotted soldiers reached for the vehicle, arms outstretched. They were smashed by ram bars, pulped beneath the wheels.
The cash truck rode over smooth flagstones, through ceremonial precincts and out the citadel gateway. It bounced over rock-strewn dirt.
‘Quarter of a tank,’ said Gaunt, checking the dash gauge. ‘If we can’t get the loco running, we use the truck to get out the valley. Throw some water and ammo in the back. Should help us cross a few miles of desert before we have to get out and walk.’
They reached the convoy. Gaunt revved and rammed the column of vehicles. He bulldozed a passage between cars. Body panels shrieked. Doors ripped free. A Subaru tipped and rolled.
They pulled up in front of the fuel truck. They lashed tow straps.
‘You got to walk me back to the train,’ said Gaunt. ‘Keep the fuckers off my back while I drive.’
Gaunt gunned the throttle. The armoured car crept forward. The tow strap slapped taut and creaked at full tension. High revs. Gaunt pumped the throttle and rocked the fuel truck free.
Voss stood guard. He climbed on the hood of a burned-out Lincoln. A row of automobiles, toe to tail. He jumped roof to roof. He kept pace with the lurching fuel truck as it rolled forward.
He climbed across the blistered hull of an APC. A soldier squirmed from a turret hatch, face a mask of knotted malignancies. Voss delivered a vicious kick to the head. Neck snap. The creature fell limp and slid back into darkness.
More grasping hands emerging from gaping hatchways, scrabbling like spiders. Snapping skull faces.
Voss pulled the pin from a frag grenade and dropped it into the dark interior of the APC. He heard it clang and clatter. He jumped clear.
Muffled blast. A jet of smoke from every vent and hatch. The hull resonated like a gong. The sound echoed round the high valley walls, and died slow.
‘How you doing?’ asked Lucy.
‘All right,’ said Amanda. She massaged her leg. ‘Riding the codeine wave.’
The sun high over the valley walls. Merciless, lacerating light. The carriage was starting to bake.
They watched the trucks lurch across wasteland towards the locomotive. They could hear the distant engine rev and labour. The vehicles kicked up a high dust plume.
Amanda looked up at the drone.
‘They must know there are people alive down here. Someone in Baghdad is watching us close-up. Examining every hair follicle and skin pore. Toying with us, like a kid frying ants with a magnifying glass.’
‘They want us dead. We are a loose end. This whole operation is a bleed they want to tie off and cauterise. Soon as we get back to Baghdad, we switch to fake ID. Destroy dog tags, credit cards, anything with our names. Collect our shit from the Rasheed, then vanish.’
‘Damn,’ said Amanda. ‘Check it out. The citadel.’
Lucy raised her binoculars. She focused. Half-dead soldiers were staggering and crawling from the citadel gate. A wraith army, relentlessly dragging themselves across sun-blasted terrain.
‘Christ. Jabril’s battalion, coming out to play. Looks like they heard the trucks. Fifty, maybe sixty men. They’re heading this way. Moving slow, but they’ll hit us soon enough.’
‘How many rounds do we have?’
‘Five or six in the AK. Half a clip in the pistol.’
‘Let Gaunt and Voss hook up the fuel line,’ said Amanda. ‘We’ll pump some gas and get the hell out of here.’
Hook-Up
Faint radio crackle. The sat phone lay on a table.
‘Roger that. Climb and level at one-eight-zero. Heading hold.’
Lucy picked up the handset.
‘Must be locked on a secure channel,’ said Amanda.
‘Hello? Hello? Can you hear us? This is Lucy Whyte. There are British and American citizens at your target site. Do you copy?’
No response.
‘There are wounded personnel at your target site requesting urgent evacuation, over.’
No response.
‘Hello? Incoming plane, do you copy?’
‘Reckon they can hear us?’ asked Amanda.
‘Yeah.’
‘Unbelievable. They’re going to kill us. They know we are here. They’re going to drop the bomb anyway.’
‘It’s a pay cheque.’
Lucy shielded her eyes from the sun. She watched the vehicles two hundred yards distant, slowly lurching over lunar terrain, kicking up a high dust plume. She could hear the cash truck strain and grind.
She could see Gaunt in the cab, hunched over the wheel.
Voss walking beside the bank truck, ghost-white with dust. He turned and delivered an efficient headshot to soldiers following the gouge-trench left by the damaged tanker.
Lucy hooked the TASC earpiece to her lobe.
‘How’s it going, Voss?’
‘Jesus. Lucy.’
He tried to work out her position. He checked out the locomotive and scanned the valley walls.
‘Bet you thought we got buried with Jabril.’
‘It wasn’t personal, boss.’
‘Open ground. I could drop you in a heartbeat. I’ve got you in my sights right now.’
No response.
‘Well? Don’t you want to live?’
‘What do you want me to say, bokkie?’
‘Help us get out of this valley, and maybe I will let you live. Can Gaunt hear us? Is he wearing his wire?’
‘No.’
‘The moment you guys hook up the fuel line, we whack him.’
‘We need Gaunt to drive the locomotive. We need him alive.’
‘Fuck him. We’ll figure out the controls.’
Lucy pulled the earpiece from her ear.
‘You want to let Voss off the hook?’ asked Amanda. ‘After what he did to us?’
‘Let’s get out the valley. After that, if you still want to snuff the guy, be my guest.’
The vehicles reached the locomotive. Voss checked out the carriage windows, trying to work out if Lucy and Amanda were hidden inside.
Gaunt jumped from the cab.
Voss climbed an iron ladder to the tanker roof. He swung the boom arm towards the locomotive. Six-inch transfer hose swung like an elephant’s trunk.
Gaunt grabbed the hose and pulled it to the walkway. He pulled a ring-latch and lifted a section of grating. He unscrewed the heavy fuel cap. He grabbed the swinging hose. Male to female. Twist to engage. Flip cam locks to clamp the coupling in position.
Voss crouched on the tanker roof and examined the pump. A 14V Dynavolt battery. An electric compressor in a mesh safety cage. He checked connections and flipped a power switch. Green light. The pump began to hum. The fuel pipe trembled. He leant forward and put his ear to the pipe. Gulp and gush.