Kara’s Game

‘Charlie Two One and Two. This is Thunder One.’ The Jaguar was past the target and climbing hard above the hills to the north.

What the hell is this? Janner wondered.

What the hell’s going on? Finn almost swore.

‘Bad news. Just been told to abort the mission.’

‘Why?’

‘Sorry. Have to exit area. Good luck.’

Because the negotiators in Vienna have said they were on the verge of a breakthrough, so do nothing to rock the boat, Janner thought. He waited for the next salvo from the hills. One minute, two, three.

The guns have stopped, Kara thought. We’re going to live, going to survive. Adin’s coming home and little Jovan will be okay. Nine minutes since the last rounds, ten. Suddenly fifteen, twenty. The planes have done it, Kara whispered to Jovan: the United Nations have saved us. The blue of the sky had turned to purple and the purple was deepening into black, the first stars above them. Told you we could handle it, Janner knew the negotiators in Vienna would be telling each other, told you we could call their bluff. Kara held Jovan in her arms. Almost laughing, almost crying, not sure which but not caring.

The twilight was gone and the night was cold and hard, the silence hanging over the valley and the stars in the sky above it. They had already eaten today, Kara told her son, but tonight they would eat again, tonight they would celebrate. Then the fire in his forehead would cool and the pain in his stomach would go away.

The moon was coming up, pale and ghostly.

‘In light of Serbian ceasefire at Maglaj, UN has ordered no further air action, therefore withdraw immediately,’ Finn and Janner were told. ‘UN have also decreed chopper pick-ups in Maglaj – Tesanj pocket might be deemed provocative, therefore patrol back through lines.’

‘Get something inside us before we go,’ Finn told his team. They took out the ration packs and opened the tins. Shone the torches on the map and plotted the route out.

‘Time to go.’ Janner’s team confirmed the exfiltration and began to leave, Janner leading and the team strung at five-yard intervals behind him.

Jovan’s temperature was suddenly soaring. The sweat was running from him and she could barely hear his breathing. ‘Is it hurting again?’ Kara asked him. ‘Where’s it hurting?’ She undid his coat and felt his stomach, then his abdomen, to the right and lower. ‘There, Mummy.’ He was crying now, clinging to her, the fever burning. At least the shelling was over, at least she could get him to the doctor in Maglaj new town. At least at night the sniper wouldn’t be waiting for her to cross the bridge. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she told him. Please come home soon, she prayed to her husband, please be all right. She lifted the boy carefully and dressed him in his warmest clothes and coat. The night was dark now, but there was no time to wait till morning. She pulled on her own coat and scarf. What about Adin, what about if her husband came home that night? She hugged the boy again then sat at the table and began to write a note.

The thunder came from nowhere, the whine of the mortar and the express train of the shell. Oh no, she almost screamed. Not the shelling again. Not on the town. Not when she had to get Jovan to hospital.

Mortar, incoming – Janner heard the whine. ‘Down,’ he was shouting, already hitting the ground himself.

The mortar landed fifty metres away. Another shell was coming in, striking the ground a hundred metres down the slope. The bastards weren’t going for the town, they were going for him. He and the others were up and moving, fast but orderly, running for the slight dip where they had established the base, the dip that might give them some protection. More crumps, suddenly more whines. The dip was fifty metres away, they were slipping on the ice, crashing into the branches of the trees. The mortars were landing again, closer this time. He heard the whine then saw the flash in front.

Oh Christ, he was aware he was thinking coldly and calmly, oh no. Not Kev, not Geordie John. The bodies were catapulting in the air, the earth and ice showering over him and the shrapnel hitting him. Oh Christ not me. The pain was somewhere on his face, somewhere in his chest, somewhere round his legs. Another mortar round was coming in. Head down and pray, he told himself, then check the others and get to the bunker. If he could find the others, if he could move.

The round hit the ground twenty metres from him and he felt the shock, waited two seconds then looked up. Max was on the ground five metres in front of him, moving slightly and moaning. At least he assumed it was Max, because Kev and Geordie John had been in front when the first round took them out. He half stood, made sure his legs weren’t giving way, and shuffled forward. ‘Legs have gone,’ Max told him. ‘Bit fucked up. Can’t move.’ Another round was coming in. Janner ignored it, unstrapped Max’s bergen and grabbed his shoulder, tried to lift him, pull him. Tried to move him whichever way he could. It’ll hurt like hell, old friend, he didn’t need to say, but no option. Move if you can, he didn’t need to tell Max, give me all the help you can.

The pain in his chest was gone, his body was suddenly numb, but his legs were holding. He was pulling, hauling. The dip in the ground ten metres from him, five metres, another round coming in and Max trying to walk, trying to get to his own shattered knees and help them both. Janner passed something, cold and bloody, realized it was Kev. Another round was coming in. This is the one, this time they’ve got us. He jerked Max forward and they slid into the dip.

‘Maglaj ceasefire broken,’ MacFarlane reported on both nets.

‘Friendly forces under enemy fire,’ Finn informed Hereford. ‘Repeat. Friendly forces under enemy fire.’ The other men in the patrol were checking the locations of the offending mortar and artillery piece. ‘Serbs deliberately targeting Charlie Two Two.’

It was too late to call an air strike, the bloody decision-makers at the UN would be too busy wining and dining to make any decisions. Only one thing to do and one way to do it. Only one way of stopping the guns shelling the men on the other side of the valley.

‘You have the positions?’ he asked the others.

‘Not moved since we targeted them earlier.’

‘Charlie One to Charlie Two.’ He used the motorola. ‘Charlie One to Charlie Two. Over.’

‘Charlie Two receiving.’ Janner was on the floor of the dip, Max half across him and blood everywhere.

‘Charlie One. What are you like?’

‘Two missing, presumed dead. Rest of patrol in minimal cover. One injured, I’m also wounded.’

‘You can walk?’

‘I can try.’

‘Give me twenty minutes.’ Which was a bloody eternity. ‘When they stop shelling, get as far out as you can. Romeo Victor is a group of houses over the ridge.’ He gave Janner the co-ordinates.

Romeo Victor – RV – rendezvous point.

‘Got that,’ Janner told him.

‘Oboe Oboe,’ Finn told Hereford. ‘Bringing out own wounded.’ No code ranked above OO. When an SAS patrol signalled Oboe Oboe everything but everything stopped. ‘Repeat. Oboe Oboe. Bringing out own wounded. Hot extraction. Landing site not secure.’ He gave them the details. ‘Will confirm co-ordinates. Radio silence from this point. Repeat. Radio silence.’ Because where we’re going and what we’re going to do, we don’t want anyone knowing. Because if they do then we’re dead as well.

Time to forget the UN. Time to ignore the rules. Time to cut throats.

‘Okay, let’s do it.’

The shells and mortars were falling on the town again. Falling on somewhere else as well, somewhere in the hills, which she couldn’t understand. But falling on the town again. Kara heard the thuds and felt the vibrations. Please God no, she prayed. Please God tell me what to do. Unless I get Jovan to the doctor’s he’s going to die, but if I try he’ll be killed anyway.

‘Finn and the boys are on the way,’ Janner told Max. ‘Be out of here soon.’ He waited till the next round exploded then looked out of the hollow, shouted for Kev and Geordie John. Kept shouting for thirty seconds then ducked inside again as another round exploded.

Kev’s body – assuming it was Kev – was ten metres away. It would be dangerous, but Kev would have done the same for him. Just enough time to get out and check if Kev had a pulse, if Kev was alive. So what would he do if he was? One he might be able to get to the RV, two no. And what about Geordie John? ‘Be back,’ he told Max. He waited till the next round exploded, slid out of the hollow and pulled himself along the ground. Pull Kev back in, which might be difficult, or waste time finding the pulse? Half Kev’s head was missing, Kev hadn’t even known what hit him. Geordie John presumably the same. Janner rolled back and tumbled into the hollow as the next round landed.

The bridge across the river, a kilometre and a half from the town, was thin and rickety, and swinging slightly in the night, the snow ghostly in the PNGs. The river beneath was cold and grey and running fast, but the bridge itself might be wired. Finn knelt and felt carefully around and under the first sections, the others covering him from the shadows. There were no wires. He nodded and ran across, allowing for the swing of the bridge, then slipped into the dark and covered the next man. There was no cold now, just the adrenalin. The last man came over and they turned up the slope.

The sites were a hundred metres apart, the support huts fifty metres back from them. Himself and Steve to take the first, Finn indicated, Ken and Jim to deal with the second. Knife job, no noise. Because if the guns simply stopped firing the soldiers in the back-up hut might think the gunners on duty had received a change of order, whereas if there was small-arms fire they might investigate. The guns were still pounding. One minute – they set their watches on count down.

Twenty minutes, Finn had said, therefore five minutes to go. The bastards had his range now and were pounding the shells in. ‘You ready?’ Janner asked Max. He’d discarded almost everything, destroyed the radios. Four minutes to go. ‘It’s going to hurt like buggery,’ he told Max, ‘but it’s the only way.’ It’s going to hurt me as well, because I don’t know where my head is going and the pain is in my legs again and my chest feels like it doesn’t exist.

He ducked as the next round came in.

‘Ready, Max?’

Christ, Max was a mess, his legs hanging disjointed and his face and body mangled as hell.

‘Ready, Janner.’

He half-lifted Max so that his body was across his shoulders and Max could still carry his Heckler, still use it if he needed, and began counting since the last round. A minute between rounds now, never more than a minute and twenty seconds. In the distance the other guns and mortars pounded the town. Thirty seconds since the last round. Forty-five. Minute gone. He waited for the next incoming round. Finn would have done it. Finn and the boys wouldn’t let him down. One minute twenty, one thirty.

Go – he heard himself shout, heard himself scream.

He was out of the bunker and trying to run. Max bouncing on his shoulders and telling him he was okay. Up the slope of the hill fifty metres, then turn along the contour line – he had worked it out on the map, knew exactly what he had to do, drummed it into his head so he would do it automatically. Christ, Max was heavy. Christ, his legs and his chest and his head were suddenly hurting. He was running slower now, little more than a stagger. Control it, he told himself, keep it calm and measured, just get up the first fifty metres and you’re okay. Still no incoming rounds, still the wonderful blissful silence. Except for the pounding in his head and the heavy metallic rasping in his lungs. Thanks, Finn, thanks, lads. He turned right, along the hillside, the woods green in the night sights and his feet slipping on the ice.