7
We emerged beside what looked like the village hall. There must have been an election in the last year or so; the walls were plastered with fading campaign posters. A line of Zurab Bazgadzes beamed down at us.
‘Our carriage awaits, lad.’
ATaliwagon sat just thirty metres away in the middle of the road. It was rusty and dented, but had four wheels and, with any luck, an engine. Best of all, there seemed to be no-one with it.
‘You ready, mate?’
He nodded.
I started running without checking he was behind me.
There was no movement, but the village was far from deserted. Shouts and a burst of automatic blazed from the other side of some buildings to my left, down towards the road.
I headed for the driver’s side and flung open the door.
No keys.
I rummaged around in the glove compartment, the foot well, the door pockets. They were under the seat.
I jumped in and hit the ignition. The warm diesel fired first time.
I heard a shout to my right, and it wasn’t Charlie.
An Akaki lookalike in a poncho glistening with rainwater was sheltering in a doorway no more than three metres away. His eyes were wide with shock. He came to his senses, dropped the handful of medical supplies he’d been holding, and went for his RPK.
The weapon swung up, almost in slow motion.
He looked beyond me and shouted again, but I shouted louder. ‘Charlie!’
I hunched forward, praying that he’d bounce onto the back before I got sawn in half.
There was a blur of bodies and muzzle flash. The light machine gun jerked and sprayed a short burst into the air, then weapon and owner disappeared under Charlie’s flailing body.
I leaped out and took a running kick at the militant’s head.
My boot connected and Akaki’s mate cried out.
Charlie rolled to one side and grabbed the weapon, and I kicked again. Charlie staggered to his feet and leaned over him, jamming the barrel into his chest. ‘Get his mags, Nick! Get his mags!’
I lifted the poncho. The RPK was basically an AK-47 with a longer, heavier barrel and a non-detachable folding bipod mounted under the muzzle. It could be fed from special box or drum magazines, but also the familiar curved AK-type thirty-round mags. This boy had two of them in a chest harness. I pulled them free and we both legged it into the wagon.
I sawed at the wheel to aim the Taliwagon uphill, away from the square. The fuel gauge gave us just over half a tank.
Charlie pulled back on the cocking handle of the RPK to check there was a round in the chamber. Then he unclipped the mag and pressed his finger down on the top round to see how many were left.
‘What you doing, lad?’
‘Pointing us at Turkey.’
‘No.’ He put a hand on the wheel. ‘Akaki first.’
‘We don’t have time for that.’
His hand didn’t budge. ‘Akaki.’
F*ck it. ‘Just one pass, that’s all you’re getting.’
I threw the wagon into four-wheel and dropped the clutch, swinging us round until we faced the other way. My foot hit the floor.
The poncho had staggered to his feet but now had to dive back into the doorway to get out of the way.
I drove hard for the other side of the square before swinging the wheel right to head downhill. I squeezed the wagon into an alleyway and added a whole new set of dents to its already impressive collection.
We came out into the main drag like a cork from a bottle. The other Taliwagons had pulled in before the bend about 200 metres ahead of us. The militants were putting down a fearsome amount of fire against the BDUs below them. Three bodies lay motionless in the field where the Hueys had landed. The BDUs were still trying to fire and manoeuvre uphill, using the buildings as cover. Now they were closer, Akaki had better targets. Another body lay on the road between them, and I saw a couple of BDUs drag a wounded man into cover just beyond it.
I braked to a halt. Now we were here, I knew Charlie was right. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.
I shoved the wagon into first. ‘It’s one pass, make the most of it.’
He turned his back to me and poked the weapon out of his window, wooden stock resting on the door, butt into his shoulder.
A few faces turned as we moved down the road, then went back to their war.
I accelerated.
Seconds later we were level with Akaki’s crew and Charlie fired short, sharp bursts into anything that moved.
The noise inside the cab was deafening, even with both the windows open, and we were choking on cordite. I tried to keep the wagon as steady as I could. The rounds had to make their spots or we’d get a whole shitload in return.
The bodywork took a couple of crunching thuds as the militants got their act together.
Charlie recocked and got off two short bursts.
‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’
I hit the brake and Charlie took aim at a cluster of three men, one of whom, unmistakably, was Akaki. He legged it while the two others tried to shield him.
Charlie’s weapon fell silent.
‘Stoppage!’
He changed mags, his eyes always on the target as it clambered into the back of a Taliwagon.
‘Wait! Wait!’
He recocked and kept the bursts short and sharp. Akaki’s wagon lurched forward and sped back the way we had come.
I braked hard and threw our Toyota into a three-point turn.
As we closed, their rear screen disintegrated and our windscreen took two rounds. The safety glass shattered but stayed intact.
‘Keep going! Go, go, go!’
Charlie kicked out his side of the shattered windscreen. Shards of glass peppered my face, blown back by the wind. More rounds thudded into the wagon. F*ck it, there was nothing I could do but drive.
Charlie rearranged himself in his seat and shoved the RPK’s muzzle through the hole in the screen. Its barrel sizzled in the rain. Charlie fought to keep the thing stable on its bipod and aimed as best he could, firing double taps to conserve rounds.
Akaki’s wagon disappeared about fifty ahead of us.
‘Go right, go right – cut him off!’
I swung the Toyota the way Charlie said, and found myself paralleling Akaki along a narrow mud track between two barns. Charlie held the weapon down to control it. ‘Get your foot down! Get up there before him!’
I fought the wheel as the back of the wagon bucked like a rodeo horse.
We roared back up onto the high ground and passed the village square to our left. I threw the Toyota into a turn as Akaki’s wagon broke out from the other side of the square. Charlie started firing before I’d even rammed on the brakes. ‘Give me a platform. Platform!’
I held the wagon still as Charlie kept firing, short and sharp.
Mud kicked up around Akaki’s wagon. It took hits but kept going.
Another burst.
‘Stoppage!’
Akaki’s wagon crashed straight into the side of the village hall, its wing ripped open. One body jumped out of the back; another fell. The driver stayed put, slumped over the wheel.
‘Hold on!’
Ramming the gearshift into first, I aimed at the body running along the edge of the square.
Charlie worked frantically to change mags as we bounced and shuddered towards the runner. No mistaking who it was.
He turned, brought up his weapon, and fired.
I didn’t know if we were taking hits or not, and I didn’t care. I drove straight at him. ‘Get that f*cking thing loaded!’
The wind roared through the windscreen as Akaki turned and started to run again.
Too late; our wing caught him in the small of his back, catapulting him across the road.
I passed him; hit the brakes.
Charlie tried to get out.
‘Stay!’
I threw the Toyota into reverse. The back wheel lifted over his body then came back down onto the road.
The front wheel followed.
I kept on reversing until Charlie could take aim. Two short, sharp bursts thudded into the body on the ground.
As we crested the hill away from the village, my foot never left the floor.