8
‘One down, one to go.’ Charlie had to shout to make himself heard over the wind rush.
‘You pissed?’ I kept my eyes on the road. We were only ten minutes out of the village and however much we needed them, I couldn’t risk lights. What was left of the windscreen my side was shattered. The smashed glass and plastic safety layer protected me from the worst of the wind, but made it even harder to spot the puddles, or any deep hole that might swallow us up.
The firs covering the high ground to our right made our world darker still. The good news was, we were back on the pipeline, heading for Turkey and Crazy Dave. The five-metre-wide scar ran like a guide rail to our left.
I checked the rear-view. Still no pursuit. F*ck it; I switched on the headlights and put my foot down.
I’d just dropped down into two-wheel to try to eke out the fuel when the headlights picked out a static vehicle at the roadside. It was a rusting, lime-green Lada. The bonnet was up.
‘Thank you, God.’ Charlie reached down and pulled the RPK from the foot well.
I gripped the wheel. ‘Come on, mate, I’ve got to get you home.’
‘F*ck that, lad. We got the first bastard, now let’s finish the job.’
‘What’s the point? He had at least an hour’s head start. He might be in another vehicle by now, and halfway to Turkey.’
‘So what? We check this out, and catch up with him then. I’m going for it. You in?’
As if I was going to leave him and drive on.
I stopped the Toyota and stuck it into first gear, ready to back him. As he climbed out, he pushed the safety lever on the left of the RPK down to the first click, single shot.
He walked around to the back of the Taliwagon, the big RPK in his shoulder, bipod folded up along the barrel.
Once he was level with me, we were ready.
‘Come on then, let’s do it.’
I lifted the clutch and crept forward as he limped beside me, using the wagon as cover. Why he’d got out, I didn’t know. Then it dawned on me. He was enjoying this. He was doing it not only to get Bastard; he was doing it for himself. It was the last chance he’d ever have to do some soldiering, the thing that he was born for.
He stopped short of the Lada and so did I. I kept low in the seat. Bastard still had that Desert Eagle.
Charlie’s eyes were fixed on the treeline, looking for trouble. ‘Stay here, I’ll check for sign.’
He hobbled forward, RPK at the ready.
He didn’t go right up to the car; just circled it, checking the mud for tracks.
He tried the driver’s door. The Lada was unlocked.
Charlie took a quick look inside, then moved slowly up the road, still casting around for sign.
Four or five metres ahead of the Lada, he turned and gave me a thumbs-up.
I rolled towards him and stopped.
He stuck his head through the passenger window. ‘Flat shoes. Leading into the treeline.’ He spoke very quietly, as if Bastard was within earshot. ‘He can’t have gone far; you saw how useless he was. We’ve got the f*cker.’
He hobbled off without waiting to see if I was coming.
I killed the engine, grabbed the keys and got out.