Zero Option

Twenty minutes into our first run, Pat came up on the chatter net. 'Geordie, I'm stopping. There's something ahead of us. I can't make it out.'

'All stations stop,' I replied. 'Switch offand wait out.

OK, Pat, I'm coming up to have a look.'

I cruised up beside him and shut down my engine.

'There,' he whispered, pointing ahead and to the right.

'Something black. I thought I saw it move.'

Peering through my PNGs I irrimediatdy spotted what he meant: a black shape, possibly two hundred metres off, with an irregular outline, its left side low and its right taller and pointed. It could have been two men close together, one kneeling or sitting, the other standing.

'Can't get it,' I murmured.

'It's the right-hand bit that I thought I saw move.'

I pushed the PNGs up on to my forehead and brought out my binoculars, but the ambient light was so faint that they were no help. With the PNGs back on I watched again. It was quite eerie, sitting there in the great silence of the desert, the gentle puffs of wind coming in over our left shoulders and I felt myself getting jumpy.

'Chill out,' I said under my breath. 'You're doing fine.' I knew from past experience that when you're out at night, almost anything will move in the end — or seem to — if you watch it for long enough. Whether your eyes deceive your mind or vice versa I'm not sure, but if your nerves are on edge even rocks appear to take on a life of their own and start shifting stealthily about.

'Anyone back there make it out?' I asked over the net. 'Two o'clock to our line of advance.'

'Thorns,' said Whinger. 'Couple of thorn bushes.'

'You sure?'

'Reckon so. The right-hand one/s moving. The top of it's blowing in the wind.'

'OK,' I said. 'I think you're right. We'll carry on.

Head left, Pat, and give it some room. I'll cover you until we're past.'

I unslung my AK-47 and sat with it at the ready as Pat set offleft-handed. Whinger had been right. The clump of thorns waved in the wind as we passed, and we left it to its own devices in the dark.

After another twenty minutes without incident I decided to bring Pat back. I knew he wouldn't want to give up lead scout — being mustard keen, he'd carry on all night if I let him — but I also knew that he'd inevitably get tired, and that the edge would go off his vigilance.

'Tbin out,' I told him over the radio. 'Norm, move up front.'

'It's no sweat,' Pat called back. 'I'm fine here. D'you want me to go faster or something?'

'Not at all. Y6u've done a great job. I just want everyone to rotate.'

'OK, then.' As he fell back past me and Norm went forward, I gave them both thumbs up.

Soon the sand seemed to grow deeper; I could feel it dragging at my wheels. The quad started to slew about, the steering grew heavier, and I needed more power to maintain speed. Then Stew, at the back, called to say that he was falling behind; the trailer wheels were digging in, and even on full power he was losing us.

'Ease off, Norm,' I instructed. 'Aim for twenty rather than thirty.'

'Aye, OK,' said Norm. 'I'm throttling back.'

'Good,' I went. 'See if you can hold that, Stew.'

I could feel my adrenalin flowing fast now. At all costs we had to be on target by first light, predicted to be at 0445; by then, we needed to have found a suitable lying-up point and to have built an OP. If we main tained our present speed we'd reach the area of the LUP inside another hour, and we'd be OK. But if we had to start winching our bikes up and down the walls of the wadi our speed of advance could drop from twenty k.p.h, to one, and we could well end up in the shit.

When we'd been running for an hour I called a refuelling halt. I couldn't tell how much petrol we'd used, but it obviously made sense to top up our tanks while nobody was harassing us; also, it took a few kilos off the load on the trailer. Two of the guys assumed defensive positions, twenty-five metres out on either side, while the rest of us tanked up, then two others took over from them while they came in and did the same. Although the desert seemed empty, we couldn't be sure that the Libyans weren't out on night exercises, that a patrol might have heard us coming.

Soon we were rolling again, with Whinger now in the lead, and after only ten minutes we seemed to begin to emerge from the deep-sand belt, the bikes starting to move more easily. But then came a sudden call from the rear.

'Geordie,' said Norm, and from the way he said my name I knew there was something wrong.

'What is it?'

'I've dropped a bollock.'

'How?'

'My fucking Magellan.'

'What's happened to it?'

Tve left it behind.'

'Don't be stupid.'

'I have.'

'Where?', 'At that halt.'

'Bloody hell! All stations stop!' A surge of alarm drove down into my guts. Again and again I'd harped on the importance of not shedding any item of kit, however trivial, in case it betrayed our origins and a Magellan, programmed up with our courses and way- points, was the worst possible object to leave lying in the desert. Norm was usually the most careful member of the whole team. 'What the hell were you doing, taking it off the bike anyway?' I asked.

'I didn't want to risk splashing petrol on it, so I took it out of the holder and put it on the ground while we were gassing up.'

I felt exasperated — but Norm knew he'd screwed up, and I saw no point in mouthing offat him. So I just said, 'You'll have to go back. There's no alternative. We can't risk leaving it. D'you think you can find the place?'

'Dunno. Have to try. How long is it since we restarted?'

'Eight minutes,' said Stew. 'We were rolling for eight minutes exactly.'

'Time yourself-back,' I told Norm. 'You should be able to see the marks where we did the refueling.

Whinger, go with him. The rest of us will wait for you here. And take it easy — we're still all right for time.'

So we were, but not by much.

Two of us sat in a hollow, with the other two posted out on either flank. It was reassuring to find that the noise of the quads' engines died away quickly into the night, but tension built up as the minutes ticked by.

Feeling restless, I got off my bike and walked away to have a piss.

'Stupid cunt!' Stew muttered as I came back, voicing the anxiety that all of us were feeling.

'Easily done,' I said. 'You might drop the next bollock, Stew. Give him a break.'

Presently in my ear-piece I heard Norm say, 'Back on site.'-Then, a moment later, he exclaimed, 'Got the fucker!' and everyone relaxed.

With the party reunited, we rolled forward again to the north until, from in front, Whinger called, 'Stopping, stopping. There's an obstruction ahead.'

'OK,' I answered. Tm closing on you. Everyone else, wait out.'

I cruised up beside him.

'See it?' he said quietly. 'Like a wall.'

'It's the road, but it's on an embankment. In the desert they're often built like that, to stop sand drifting over them.'

'Yeah, but there's something this side of it.'

'Wait one.' I reached forward to the top flap of my bergen and undid the straps, feeling for my binoculars.

The 10 x 50 lenses, bloomed for light-gathering, instantly revealed the nature of the problem.

'Shit and derision!' I cried. 'It's a fucking pipeline!

Two-deck, each pipe about a metre diameter. There's no way we can ride over that.'

'How in hell didn't that figure on the briefing?' said Tony. 'Didn't the CIA guy mention it?'

'Not a dicky-bird.'

'Jesus Christ!'

'Let's blow the shit out of it,' said Whinger. 'Make a passage.'

'Brilliant!' I told him. 'And attract every son of the Prophet in Libya straight on to us. They'd send out all choppers in the country to sweep up and down until they found out what happened. No thanks. There's only one thing for it. Scout right and left. There must be a culvert under it somewhere for herdsmen to walk through. Tony, you and Pat go right. Norm, you and Whinger left. Move up a bit closer to it first, then keep heading along parallel with the road till you find an underpass. Stew and I'll hold here until one of you calls.'