Crucial did his best to comfort him in his favourite-uncle French while Sam’s kids looked on. There was no fear in their eyes, no hate, no passion. They had the blank, empty stares of shell-shocked Tommies on the Somme.
I took the lamp from Silky so she could help Tim. I tried hard not to look down. I just wanted this out of the way, and to get on with what I had to do. ‘We can’t leave before first light. But they’ll hit us again – all depends how long it’ll take them to regroup.’
Tim glanced up and nodded.
‘So you’ve got a choice.’ I adjusted the lamp to keep the glow on Tim’s hands as he tried to repair the damage I had probably caused. ‘Back to the trench, or stay here and look after this lot.’
Silky smiled. ‘What do you think, Nick?’
Tim nodded again. ‘This is what I do.’ He and Silky exchanged a glance. ‘This is what we do. Besides, we need light. The moon doesn’t quite cut it.’
I couldn’t help smiling too. Fuck knows why, because there wasn’t anything to smile about.
Back outside, I ran to Sam’s trench. All three guns were facing forwards now. The top covers were up on the two they’d just brought, and Bateman’s was made ready, link in the feed tray.
I peered into the trench. ‘Where’s Sunday?’
Bateman didn’t bother looking up. He was cleaning the other two guns, and that took priority. ‘We put him in one of the tents, man. Fucking kid was in the way.’
Crucial joined us with his RPG, shoved it into the corner and disappeared again without a word.
I lifted the feed tray of the second gun and cleaned out the gunk underneath it. I checked there was no mud on my sleeve, then gave the inside a good wipe.
Crucial came back with an armful of RPG rounds, dumped them and pissed off again.
Standish and Sam jumped into the backblast channel. You could smell the friction between them.
Standish jabbed the air. ‘If we don’t use those kids, we’re all going to fucking die here. We need fire power, and that’s the solution, Sam. Why can’t you get that into your godly fucking head? Look, we have three guns, four RPGs. We take the guns, and Crucial trains up the kids on the RPGs.’ The words were tumbling out like spent cases from a feed tray. ‘If we’re all going to stay here and play Mother Teresa, we need to win the firefight, and that’s how we do it.’
‘Listen.’ Sam’s voice was dangerously calm. ‘You’ll only get this from me this one last time. I – will – not – arm – the – kids. We’ll stand our ground until we can move. With the extra casualties, first light is still the only option.’
Crucial reappeared with another load of RPG rounds. ‘No way the kids, man. I’m not here to sink to the level of those animals.’ He thumbed out towards the valley.
Bateman had had enough too. He jumped out of the fire trench, shaking his head like a wet dog. ‘For fuck’s sake, just get on and make a decision about the little shits, man, before sun-up. We’ve got a job to do here.’ He picked up his GPMG with about twenty link on it, grabbed two of the ammo boxes, and stormed off to his own trench.
Sam could see the cogs turning in my head. ‘No, Nick. It’s not going to happen. There’s enough of us – if we keep together, fight together, we’ll hold out. We know what to do with this stuff.’ He jerked his head down at the RPGs and the other two guns on the parapet. ‘We have three gunners, two RPG men – that’s me,’ he slapped himself on the chest and nodded at Standish, ‘and him.’ He turned to Crucial. ‘RPG rounds?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘There you go – masses.’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Fuck it. Let’s get this over and done with, shall we?’
5
Standish grabbed the RPG like a spoilt kid snatching back his football after the other side’s scored.
Crucial came and stood alongside me. Sam turned to us. ‘Right, take a gun each. We’ll handle the RPGs. Get everyone out of the tents and squeeze them into the trenches.’
I shook my head. ‘Silky and Tim, they’re staying. They need light to work on the casualties.’
He hesitated a beat. ‘OK, they’re big boys and girls.’ He glanced at Crucial. ‘Get the kids in now. Two in each trench.’
Crucial looked over at Bateman. ‘You sure, man?’
‘Why not? Let him see what we see every day.’
Standish began to shout at no one in particular, like an old meths drinker on a park bench. ‘We should leave now! Now!’
It was so loud even Bateman could hear him. He hollered back, incandescent: ‘Shut the fuck up, man! We stay and fight. When we get back, that’s me finished. I’m not working for you any more. I’ve had enough of this shit. You Brits bitch like fucking women!’
That got a laugh out of Crucial.
I kept my AK, picked up the gun and two boxes of ammo and staggered across to my position. The trench was now empty of RPG rounds; the launcher was where I’d left it. So was the jerry-can, with the remaining AK mags stacked on top.
I set the gun on the parapet so the loaded rounds lay on the crate top. Then I went back with my AK and picked up the plunger, firing cable still attached. I looked down at Sam. ‘The pigtail was good.’
He nodded. Standish had been the only one to voice it, but we all knew things would have turned out very differently had the device kicked off on command.
I jumped into my trench and started to pull in the two hundred metres or so of firing cable. It only took thirty seconds or so till the two muddy wires at the end were in my hands. I checked that the cable was still well attached to the butterfly nuts, then laid the two wires a millimetre apart on the crate top. Holding them in place with my left hand, I pulled up the plunger handle and pushed it down. A spark arced between the two wires.
It must have been a faulty det, and there was nothing I could have done about that: we didn’t have a tester. Either that, or there wasn’t enough charge to run down both lengths of cable once I’d joined them. Not that any explanation made me feel any better.
I pushed the plunger out of the way, in front of the trench.
I lifted the lid off the link boxes, pulled out a factory-made belt from the first and attached it to the rounds already queuing in the feed tray. When I fired, the link would flow out of the box like a snake out of a basket.
I tested my arcs, then there was fuck-all else I could do but wait. I picked up the jerry-can, took some more big, greedy gulps, and waited, alone with my thoughts. Anything that bought us time, anything that kept the LRA at bay, or even fucked them off completely, could only be good. Using these kids was better than us all being killed.
Standish had a point. It pissed me off, but he did.
6
Crucial lowered one kid each side of me. I beamed down at them. ‘All right mate? All right?’ I tapped my chest. ‘Mr Nick, Mr Nick.’ I got no response. They squatted in their corners and gave me a bleak stare.
‘Your names? What are you called? Me, Mr Nick.’
Still no response. Bet it would be a different story if I had chocolate. The thought made me feel hungry. My stomach rumbled. These two had probably known that feeling for most of their lives. Their eyes were too old for their faces, and their bodies were too young for what they’d been through.
We stagged on, making best use of the occasional splashes of moonlight to scan the area for movement. I couldn’t help asking myself the question I always asked whenever I’d stagged on a gun in the still of the night. ‘What the fuck am I doing with my life?’ Strangely, it gave me a little comfort. I’d been on stag around the world since I was sixteen. Mostly I’d been cold, wet and hungry. At least this time I was warm.