7
We were level with the main gate and the speedo flickered near twenty. Nobody on the road seemed to know what to do. They were all mouthing the Russian for ‘What the f*ck’s a British 110 doing up here?’ Thankfully they all still had their AKs slung rather than in the shoulder.
Charlie started to wave. ‘How’s it going, lads?’
They stared back, then some of the younger ones smiled and returned the wave. NCOs started shouting angrily, trying to get something organized.
We trundled past, Prince Charlie in the back still doing his greet-the-people bit. Still nobody challenged us.
The radio barked. ‘Duty vehicle, turn around, turn around. Do not stop; do not take any action that is deemed aggressive. If apprehended, comply with their orders.’
‘Shut up, you twat,’ Charlie said, smiling broadly at his new subjects.
I flicked the radio off.
Moments later, we were clear of the confusion. I was braced for shots, but none came. We were going gently downhill, no longer in view from the American camp.
The fence line stopped. Charlie turned and looked back. ‘Still no follow-up. Let’s keep going. Get that foot down, lad.’
Absolutely no argument with him on that one.
For maybe thirty minutes we saw no junctions, no options, no VCPs, just lots of undulating green to our front, a forest to our left, and a valley to our right. The engine was gunning and we were up to 90 Ks an hour in some places where the road surface allowed it.
The duty driver must have reached the VCP by now. But so what? We were well out of the area. There’d be a Welcome to Tbilisi VCP waiting over the horizon somewhere on the road, just itching for the chance to stop us any way it could, but we’d cross that bridge when we came to it. For now, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Then I heard something all too familiar, and my heart sank.
I looked at Charlie and could tell from his expression that I was right.
He wound down his window.
The noise was louder and unmistakable.
The steady throb of heavy rotor blades cutting the air.
They had a pipeline to protect: of course they would have a QRF [quick reaction force] on standby. I just wished they hadn’t taken the quick bit so much to heart.
Charlie bounced around in the back to try to pinpoint where it was coming from. I leaned forward over the wheel, straining my eyes up into a still-empty sky.
The steady beat seemed to come up level with us, and then the Huey broke out of the dead ground to our right, no more than a couple of metres away.
For the two seconds it was overhead, the 110 almost stood still under the pressure from its downwash. I could see the pilot quite easily. Both the side doors were pulled back, and the space between them was heaving with dark green BDUs and the odd two or three in US Marine spotty-camouflage.
They waved urgently, pointed weapons, gestured at us to stop.
Bollocks. They’d have to land on top of me before that happened.
I kept my foot down.
The Huey flared away and disappeared into dead ground ahead. Moments later, another set of rotors started beating the air behind us.
Charlie leaned over the back seat. ‘Here it comes. Shit, it’s low!’
Huey Two passed directly over us, just feet away, following the road. I could see the soles of combat boots resting on the skids and AK barrels sticking out of the open doors.
The 110 shook violently. Maybe they really were going to try to land on top of us.
Charlie scanned the sky. ‘Where’s the first one gone?’
‘F*ck knows, but I think this one fancies us. Look.’
It had scooted about 200 metres ahead, and flared up as it turned back round to face us. The heli’s skids bounced onto the road and troops started jumping into the haze of its exhaust fumes.
From our right, and closing in, I heard the slap of another set of rotors. Huey One passed more or less level with the 110 as it moved to take up station behind us. It was going to drop its troops to cut us off.
F*ck this. I yanked the wagon hard left, over the rough ground towards the treeline. There weren’t enough of them to find us in there.
Huey One immediately turned back towards us and swooped like a kestrel onto a field mouse, settling at a hover just feet above us. A spotty uniform leaned out, feet on the skid, one hand gripping the door frame. He fixed me with a stare and shook his head slowly, then moved the index finger of the other slowly across his throat.
‘F*ck him, don’t stop, lad. Nearly there.’
We had maybe 300 to go. My head bounced off the roof as the wagon took on the terrain. It shook, rattled and tipped from side to side, but still kept going.
The heli moved ahead and landed. More troops fanned out and took up fire positions between us and the treeline.
I swung the wheel half right. Safety was just 200 away now.
Huey Two had picked up its men from the road and was back in the game, coming at us from the right.
‘He’s coming real low, lad . . .’
Charlie kept up a running commentary while I concentrated on the driving. It was still in two-wheel; I wasn’t going to stop the momentum to get it in four.
‘They got caltrops!’
I kept my foot hard to the floor, leaning over the wheel, urging the 110 closer to the cover of the trees. The rear of the wagon went momentarily airborne and the back wheels spun with a high-pitched whine, like a propeller out of water. We had to beat the caltrops.
Huey Two had come in above us. Its down-wash pummelled the wagon from side to side. It moved just ahead. A spotty uniform was perched on the skid; a ten-metre strip, peppered with three-pronged spikes, swayed from his hand towards the ground.
I swerved right again, paralleling the treeline. Just over a hundred to go.
Charlie pulled the tape and papers from the computer bag, ready to run. ‘The other heli’s up! Here any second. Get that f*cking foot down.’
The caltrops were only metres ahead, coming in left to right.
‘Stand by . . . stand by . . . they got us!’
The caltrops fell and the tyres hit almost immediately.