Fire Force(55)

Nick started to heave, throwing his food up onto his boots. He spluttered, wiping the vomit from his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting onto the ground when he’d finished.

‘That’s real soldiering, Nick,’ said Ollie. ‘You drop out of a chopper in a real contact and it only takes one bloke with an automatic rifle to get a good aim and he’s going to rip your legs to shreds. If you’re lucky you’ll die before you hit the ground. And if you’re unlucky, we’ll have to bring you back here to get your leg sawn off by this butcher. So you listen to me. I’ve got a berth for you on the back of my boat, holding a MAG, because you’re the best bloody shot I ever saw, and if some bastard starts creeping up behind me then you’re the guy I want shooting him.’

Ollie paused, then took Nick back to where the rest of the men were eating.

‘That all right with you?’

Nick nodded but remained silent.

‘Right,’ said Ollie, as he rejoined the rest of the men. ‘Some of us are going to be heading out of here long before dawn, and by the time we see the sun rising again we’ll have the scrap of our lives to deal with. So I think we all need a drink.’

Steve stepped forwards. ‘I think we’ve had enough to drink,’ he said.

Ollie looked at him sharply. ‘I haven’t,’ he said. Picking up one of the beer bottles, he removed the lid and downed it in a single draught. ‘Maybe some cards as well,’ he said. ‘Some of you boys are going to be worth a few quid in a couple of days and I want to lighten your wallets a little.’

‘Christ, man,’ Steve said irritably, ‘haven’t the bottle and the card-table got you in enough trouble already? You need to be on that boat by one-thirty and it’s already eight . . . get some sleep, for God’s sake.’

‘I need a drink.’

‘And I need to be fighting alongside blokes who aren’t so pissed and so tired they can’t shoot straight.’

Ollie took a step forward, so that he was standing two feet away from Steve. He wiped the grime and sweat from his face with the back of his hand. ‘If anyone wants a drink, I say they can have one.’

‘Well, I say they can’t,’ said Steve. ‘And that’s an—’ He paused.

‘What? An order?’ There was a sneer in Ollie voice. ‘I thought this unit was Regiment rules. Each man’s voice is equal.’

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see Wallace walking across to join them, two bottles of rum in his hand.

‘Ollie’s in charge,’ growled Wallace.

Steve looked at him furiously

‘He’s the officer, and in my book that makes him the bloke who runs the show. Doesn’t matter whether it’s regular Army or a bunch of money-grubbing chancers like you boys, the man who went to the right sort of school knows how to command. That’s the way it’s always been and that’s the way it stays.’

He stared at them all, but especially at Steve. ‘And if he says you boys can have a drink, then it’s all right with me.’

Wallace removed the top from a bottle of locally brewed rum and slammed it down on the table.

‘This job is dangerous enough without any bloody piss-heads around,’ Steve objected angrily.

‘Proper soldiers get their courage from a flag or an idea,’ said Wallace. He laughed, and lit his cigar. ‘But mercenaries? Ours comes from a chequebook or a bottle - and quite often both.’

‘This is my unit now, mate,’ Ollie told Steve. ‘Now you get some bloody sleep.’

‘Oliver’s sodding Army, is it?’ growled Steve. ‘Well, good luck to you, you bastard. I hope you get shot to pieces.’ And he stalked off towards the barracks room.

Without watching him leave, Ollie took a hit of the rum and started to deal out some cards. ‘I’ll deal you in, mate,’ he said, glancing towards Dan. ‘Maybe I can win that bar in Majorca off you.’ He let the rum wash through him. ‘Ice Cold Beer, Red Hot Girls,’ he said, laughing to himself. ‘Best advertising slogan I ever heard.’





Twenty-One

OLLIE CHECKED THAT EACH MAN was in place, before giving a signal to Ganju at the wheel. The patrol boat slipped smoothly out into the quiet waters of Lake Hasta, and started to push forwards. It was just after one-thirty in the morning, and although the sky was covered with dark clouds, so far there was no sign of rain. For that at least they could be grateful, decided Ollie. This job was going to be hard enough without fighting the weather as well.

Newton was in charge of navigating. He was the man who knew the lake, although in reality it was a simple enough task: just hug the shoreline and they’d get there soon enough. Tshaka didn’t exactly have a Navy but he had a couple of patrol boats that kept order on the lake. Even though it was the dead of night, they had to be constantly on their guard. They were close to enemy territory now, and once they crossed that line, there was no going back.