‘Sodding perfect,’ Steve muttered to himself.
Success depended on just one thing: Nick firing the RPG with total accuracy.
Steve passed the launcher across. ‘It’s all yours,’ he said.
Nick took a second to examine the weapon. It was only thirty-six inches long, and it had a set of simple iron sights at its tip. Point, aim, fire, that’s all there is to it, Nick told himself. But you had to measure the trajectory of the grenade precisely, know its speed, and assess its fuse, if you wanted to make an accurate shot.
And there wasn’t any time to practise.
His concentration was ripped apart by the roar of another explosion. The Mi-24 had just dropped out of the clouds directly above the forest, blasting another Spiral missile into the woods as it did so. A plume of smoke and fire was already rising into the sky and the sound of trees crashing to the ground echoed across the scrubland. Both men glanced anxiously at each other. There was no way of knowing whether it had hit their unit or not. It was close, that much was certain.
‘Just crack on,’ said Steve quickly. ‘We’ve got to get that chopper out of the sky.’
Five hundred yards ahead of them, Ian and Maksim had scurried onto the track, carrying the two remaining extinguishers with them. The plan was to create a massive explosion. With any luck, the pilot would swing around, and blast his missile into the fireball, assuming there must be men there. As he flew towards it, Steve and Nick could fire the RPG into the chopper from behind.
That was the plan, reflected Steve. And they better pray to God it worked. Because they had nothing else up their sleeve.
Steve could see Ian wave towards him, then start running back towards the woods. He knew precisely what the signal meant. The fuse was lit. It would detonate in one minute.
‘Ready?’ he snapped at Nick.
The lad nodded.
‘Remember, it explodes directly over the blade.’
Nick nodded again. His expression was concentrated, determined.
The Mi-24 was swooping across the treetops, 600 feet above the ground. The pilot was scanning the woodland, looking where to put the next missile. He swung around, heading out across the scrub, preparing to turn and put the next blast into the woods. Steve tracked every move of the machine. And he could tell at once that they’d been spotted.
The Gatling gun rattled into action, peppering the ground with its huge bullets.
‘Dive, dive!’ shouted Steve.
He hurled himself behind the upturned troop carrier, his face falling down into the mud and the cold, sticky rainwater. Nick was diving alongside him. As he did so, one of the bullets smashed into a grenade that must have been stored in the webbing of the dead soldiers, creating an explosion that rocked through the air. It was half-buried by the man lying on top of it. But blood, shards of bone and skin, and lethal slices of shrapnel were flying in every direction.
‘I’m hit, I’m fucking hit,’ screamed Nick.
Steve pulled him down behind the carrier. Five hundred yards ahead, the two extinguisher bombs ignited, sending a tower of fire and smoke into the air.
The Mi-24 turned, its movement like a lazy eagle, the pilot pointing the bug-like nose of the machine towards the explosion, ready to unleash a volley of gunfire and missiles straight into anyone who might be lurking there.
‘This is our chance,’ said Nick. He staggered to his feet. Blood was pouring from the gash opened up in his right thigh, and the wound was already covered in mud and rainwater. Even so, he lifted the Type 69 to his shoulder, steadying himself for the shot.
‘Don’t be crazy, you’re wounded,’ snapped Steve, pulling himself to his feet.
‘I can make it,’ growled Nick.
‘You can hardly fucking stand.’
‘Get out of the way.’
‘We’ve only got one fucking round,’ yelled Steve. ‘We can’t waste it.’
‘And I’m the best sodding shot you ever saw.’
‘Not with a bloody open wound in your leg.’
Nick’s left hand lashed out, knocking Steve in the face. He stumbled backwards, surprised by both the suddenness and force of the blow. Before he had time to react, Nick had steadied himself again, raised the Type 69 to his shoulder, and squinted his right eye, making a series of minute adjustments to the barrel of the launcher.
Then: ‘Kill,’ he said, his tone calm and determined. And he unleashed the single round.
As Steve recovered his balance, his first reaction had been to wrestle Nick to the ground. But then he heard the sharp retort, the drilling of the air, and he could see the grenade arching through the air on the first stage of its trajectory. He took a sharp intake of breath, aware that their last hope of survival lay within that small lump of steel. The chopper had turned, flying fast towards the explosion, gunfire still rattling from its cannons. The round was disappearing into the sky, impossible to track through the cloud and smoke. Steve counted down the seconds. It was a virtually impossible shot, he realised as he watched and waited. The RPG round had to be fired to detonate precisely over a fast-moving target. Impossible, he repeated grimly to himself.