The HEI round exploded with a sudden crack, like a flash of thunder. Instantly, the Mi-24 started to wobble in the sky, as if it had just been slapped around the face. The 900 steel balls blasting from the grenade were jamming up its blades, cutting the power, and it was losing altitude. The incendiary devices were popping all around it, creating little balls of fire, and flames were starting to lick all around its hull. And the shockwave had jammed the electronics, making it impossible for the pilot to respond to the assault.
It was spinning and stalling.
Steve watched closely, his breath still held. A helicopter was one of the most deadly pieces of equipment on a battlefield. But once it got into trouble, it was also one of the most useless, since it had no ability to respond or retaliate. The flames were starting to rise all around it, sending fumes of black smoke upwards. Suddenly, the blades jammed completely. The loss of power was total. The Mi-24 dropped from the sky colliding with the ground and exploding with a deafening fireball. Even 500 yards away, the ground beneath their feet shook violently, as if they were standing on the edge of an earthquake. A wall of flame ignited, the smell of burning diesel filled the air, and a shower of debris flew in every direction.
Nick dropped the Type 69 and thumped his fists together. He glanced across at Steve, a grin on his face. ‘Just like I told you, the best shot you ever saw.’
Forty-Five
SAM WAS BUSY DRESSING NICK’S wound. She’d ripped the trousers open with a knife, and pulled his Medipack out of his webbing. The wound was a nasty one. A shard of shrapnel had cut a gash four inches long in the thigh. It had bled heavily, and mud and water - and possibly the blood from one of the corpses - had already splashed up into it, increasing the risk of infection. Sam had done nursing training as a teenager growing up on the farm, and insisted on taking charge, cleaning out the wound, and applying a bandage across it.
‘How bad is it?’ asked Ollie anxiously.
‘It’s a flesh wound, he should be fine. Unless . . .’
Steve fell silent for a minute. On their last job, Jeff had taken a wound to the leg. He’d have been fine as well if they’d managed to get him to a hospital. Instead, he’d lost more and more blood, until he’d died in the remote mountain ranges between Pakistan and Afghanistan. They couldn’t let the same thing happen to Nick.
‘We’ll get him to a hospital,’ said Ollie, and he meant it.
After the Mi-24 had crashed into the ground, Steve had carried Nick straight back into the forest. He’d said he could walk, but Steve had told him not to be stupid. He shouldn’t be putting any weight onto the leg until they’d had a chance to look at it properly. The rest of the unit was cheering them back. The final Spiral missile had landed just fifty yards away, forcing them to dive for cover to avoid being flattened by the falling trees, or burned by the shockwave rippling through the forest. Now they were safe enough, reckoned Steve. The troop carrier was destroyed and so was the chopper.
‘The Land Rovers are buggered,’ said Ollie. ‘So how are we getting out of here, Ganju?’
‘Two more miles of forest,’ said the Gurkha. ‘Then it’s another four miles across open country down to the shore of the lake.’
‘Is Nick going to be able to make it?’ Ollie asked Sam.
She finished dressing the wound. ‘It’ll be OK,’ she said. ‘There’s no shrapnel in there that I can see. He needs a hospital to clean it out properly, and make sure nothing gets infected, but he can walk on it.’
‘Bloody hell, I thought I was getting a stretcher,’ said Nick. ‘A chance to put my feet up.’
Steve laughed. He checked his watch. It was just after noon. With any luck, they should make it to the lake in a couple of hours, so long as they didn’t encounter any more opposition. ‘Let’s make a move,’ he said tersely. ‘We’ve all spent enough time in this sodding country.’
Using his knife, Dan cut a rough staff for Nick. Within minutes, he’d made what looked like a crutch from a branch of teak, and Nick was able to prop himself up on it and swing forwards, keeping as much weight off his right foot as possible. Ganju was leading the way, having figured out the best route on the map. They’d walk through the forest as far as they could: there was less chance of being spotted that way. Then they’d cut through four miles of open scrub and savannah which should bring them out onto the lake a couple of miles down from Avalanche Falls. They walked nervously at first, still wary of the possibility that there might be more attack helicopters out searching for them, but as they drew closer to their destination, their confidence grew.