8
The steering wheel vibrated violently in my hands for several seconds then the wagon simply came to a halt. Tyres deflated, the wheel rims had just ploughed into the mud.
Both helis were on us. BDUs jumped out metres away, weapons up. The guys would be pumped. Some looked nervous, some like they just wanted to chalk up a kill.
I raised my hands very slowly and obviously and placed them on the dash, where they could be seen.
A black guy in spotty-camouflage, two bars on his lapel, shouted from the front of the wagon, over the roar of the helis. ‘Get out of the vehicle! Get out of the vehicle!’
We didn’t f*ck around.
Baby Georgians swarmed round and kicked us to the ground. Hands searched us. Pockets were pulled out, jackets ripped open.
One of the Hueys took off again and hovered above the 110 as I got turned over onto my back and searched some more. A winch cable descended from its belly, at the end of which hung a set of wide nylon straps.
The downwash was heavy with the stench of aviation fuel. My face was splattered by earth, grit, and rainwater from the grass.
Thanks to the caltrops, the wagon wasn’t going anywhere without help, even if the BDUs had wanted to risk another international incident with the Russians. The Georgian boys were all over it like a rash, rigging the webbing straps. This beat the shit out of another day in the classroom.
AKs bore down on us and the black guy loomed back into my line of sight. He carried out yet another search, oblivious to the buffeting of the downwash.
‘The driver’s OK! We dropped him a few Ks from camp. He’s fine.’ I took a deep breath so I could make myself heard over the two sets of rotors. ‘We didn’t touch him, he’s OK!’
People can get very dangerous if they think one of their own has been hurt.
My hands were grabbed. The cuffs had solid steel spacers instead of chains. You can’t flex your wrists in them. They were closed far too tight, but I wasn’t complaining. I just looked down, clenched my teeth, kept my muscles taut, ready for another kicking.
The captain grabbed hold of the spacer and gave it a tug. I was totally under his control. He jumped the caltrops, and started running towards the second Huey. It was just too painful to do anything but follow as best I could.
I looked behind me and saw Charlie quick-timing to keep up with his escort.
The captain jumped aboard first. He hauled me up and shoved me into one of the red nylon webbing seats that ran down the centre of the cabin, facing the doors. Charlie’s man did exactly the same from the other side.
The Georgians leaped on board behind us, and the heli lifted. I got a great view of the other Huey, hovering above the 110. It was just about rigged up and ready to go.
The troops it had ferried in would have to stay behind; I guessed they’d come back for them after dropping us off.
As we crossed the main drag, a line of overexcited locals peered up at us from the windows of a rusty old coach loaded with suitcases, shopping bags, chickens in cages, all sorts, on the roof rack. I guessed theirs would be the last happy faces I’d be seeing for a while.
We flew over the bus, giving the Russian camp a wide berth to the left. The captain had pulled on a set of headphones and talked fast into the boom mike. The noise of the engine and the rush of the wind made it impossible to hear what he was saying, but I knew it had to be about us.
The inside of the Huey hadn’t had anything done to it since it left Mr Bell’s factory in the 1980s. The walls were still lined with faded silver padded material, and the floor’s non-slip, gritty paint had worn away before some of these squaddies were even getting the hang of their first water pistols.
We hugged the side of the valley, using it as cover from the Russians who’d be up there, somewhere, radioing a progress report to Moscow.
We flew low and fast, trees, animals and buildings zooming past in a blur.
We tilted left and right, following the contours. Wind blasted the interior as we took a particularly sharp right-hander. I gripped my seat between my legs to stop myself being tipped into the trees.
We levelled out then surged over the ridge and Camp Vasiani spread out ahead of us.
The fieldcraft training was still in full swing, but I now knew it was just for show. The real Partnership for Peace programme was being played out here in the Huey. Guys like the US Marine in the seat beside me would stay in charge, while the Georgian boys would do the housework and smile for the cameras.
We hovered over the concrete pan and came in to land. Exhaust fumes and downwash gusted into my face.
No sooner were the skids on the ground than we were manhandled in the direction of a waiting 110.
In the distance, the other Huey appeared over the ridgeline, the Land Rover dangling from its belly.
Down here, confusion reigned. The Georgians bundled us into the back of the 110. One of their mates was driving, and the others formed an armed escort. Four outriders sat astride dull-green quad bikes. The marine in charge wore body armour, helmet and wraparounds, and had an M16 slung across his back. The bar on his lapels and the top of his helmet marked him out as a lieutenant.
We were bounced around the camp perimeter and eventually arrived at the Portakabin complex. I didn’t bother coming up with any scenarios. I’d have no influence on events, so I was going to take things as they came. I just had to accept I was deeply in the shit: if they didn’t know it already, they wouldn’t take long to realize that they had a local TV and newspaper star on their hands. And once they did, well, every minute I wasn’t banged up in a Georgian police cell with a crew cut and thumbscrews was a bonus.
We turned into an open square lined by groups of the cream-coloured, aluminium Portakabin modules. The 110 stopped, and the quad bikes pulled up around us.
The lieutenant dismounted and shouted a series of orders.
Three US Marines stood to on our right, in body armour and Kevlar helmets, weapons in the shoulder. Their message was clear. ‘Hands up! Show me your hands! Hands in the air!’
I spotted the air-conditioning units on the roofs of the modules. I had a feeling we’d be needing them.