Land of Fire Part 21

"Wait." She dragged me back. "Why not take a truck? One of those out in front? Then we can put my friend in too."

I hesitated. The idea made sense.

"Even if we were seen, people might not suspect," she continued. "They would think it was just part of the maintenance for the runway."

She was right of course. A vehicle moving around would attract much less attention, particularly something like the snow clearer that had so nearly run her down.

I called to n.o.bby he was our mechanical expert and he came running back from the rear.

I took him to the window. "See those trucks parked out there? We need one of them." I explained the plan. "Something big and heavy that can take punishment." I had in mind that we might need to ram the doors of the hangar.

"Sure, boss. No sweat." He grinned. I'd never seen n.o.bby so happy. "I'll scrounge a few tools and bring you back anything you want."

While n.o.bby searched for the tools he wanted, I pulled back the shutter on one of the windows to check the front. The snow plough was still working on the runway, otherwise the scene was deserted.

n.o.bby returned with a long-bladed screwdriver and a pair of pliers.

"OK?" I said. He nodded and pulled on a coat that had been hanging on a hook by the door. I opened the handle to let him out. "Walk normally," I muttered. "You'll attract less attention."

"Aye, boss. Don't fret. I'll be back in a jiffy with the wheels." He set off, shoulders hunched against the wind, the image of a reluctant man ordered out into the snow against his will. I watched him from the door, my rifle at my side. He reached the group of vehicles and I saw him move along the line, checking each one. Finally he climbed up into a cab. There was a pause.

Josh joined me at the door. "Think he needs any help?"

"No. If n.o.bby can't start the f.u.c.ker, no one can." I remembered n.o.bby telling me that, in his teenage years, before he'd signed up with the Army, he'd been a tear away joy-rider, whose greatest thrill had been breaking into high-performance motors then taunting the cops to chase him. There wasn't a vehicle built that could resist his a.s.sault for long.

We saw one of the vehicles switch on its lights, then heard the throb of a diesel engine as n.o.bby gunned the motor into life. We watched it pull out and make a wide turn to bring it round towards the guard post. It was a huge yellow truck with a ma.s.sive dozer blade, like the one that had almost killed Concha.

"He's bringing it round to the car park at the back," I said. "Everybody get ready. I want everybody aboard sharply."

We grabbed coats and anoraks belonging to the guards and gathered in the rear pa.s.sage. There were eleven of us now, five SAS and six civilians including Seb. "You get in the front," I told Concha as the headlights illuminated the guard post. "You can help navigate."

The truck was enormous, built like a tank and almost as big. The others scrambled up into the ma.s.sive tipper at the rear, dragging the semi-conscious Argentine with them. It was half loaded with sand for gritting, but at least that gave the injured man something to lie on.

Kiwi staggered down the steps from the guard post, lugging the Browning. I lent him a hand loading it up. The thing weighed a ton, but its huge armour-piercing bullets would make short work of an aeroplane if we could bring it to bear. Doug was throwing up the RPGs to Josh. I saw him add three or four medical packs too.

Kiwi settled the machine-gun so that it could fire over the rear lip of the giant scoop. "What the f.u.c.k's happened to the rest of the Argies?" he grunted, already spoiling for a fight.

"I know. It's too b.l.o.o.d.y quiet," I said. "Maybe they're all busy with the a.s.sault force."

"Well we're ready for the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," he said defiantly.

The mood of the other men was the same; if it came to a battle they would go down fighting this time. No way were they going to endure another bout of capture and interrogation at the hands of the Argentines.

I saw everyone safely stowed, then ran round to the front and climbed up beside Concha and n.o.bby.

"Back on to the runway," Concha told him, 'then to the left."

With a grinding of gears we set off. The snow was still falling thickly. n.o.bby hunched over the wheel, peering through the screen. We reached the edge of the runway and turned north, following Concha's directions. I was tense with excitement. It seemed incredible to me that we could have come this far without being detected.

"There! Over there that is the fuel depot!" Concha cried, pointing. "The hangars are just beyond. You can see them now!"

I stared through the swirling darkness, and could just make out the familiar looming hulks of the giant hangars. We were almost there.

And at that moment a searchlight stabbed the night, illuminating us in its brilliant cone, and streams of tracer bullets tore towards us from every side.

It had been too easy. The enemy had been waiting for us all along. We had driven into another trap.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

Trapped in the searchlight beams from our left, n.o.bby Clark reacted instinctively. Flooring his foot, he sent the huge truck careering across the ap.r.o.n towards the hangar. A hail of gunfire opened up from every angle, and bullets pinged off the heavy steel sides of the vehicle. Our headlights lit a Jeep-mounted GPMG, firing at us from almost dead ahead. I could see the tracer glancing off the snow plough blade like coloured beads. I wound down my side window, leaned out and aimed the grenade sight on my 203. I triggered the launcher and a huge flash engulfed the front of the Jeep as the round exploded on top of it. The gun stuttered into silence. A hit to us.

There was a screaming sound like tearing fabric, followed by a terrific bang. An armoured car was out there, throwing full calibre sh.e.l.ls at us. It sounded like 105mm a single hit from one of those babies would turn us into sc.r.a.p metal. A second round cracked off, and this time we saw the sh.e.l.l burst 500 metres beyond and well behind. n.o.bby was swerving to throw off their aim. The gunners were shooting wildly, probably firing at their own side's gun flashes; in a night action with excitable troops, chaos is often likely to result unless officers keep a firm grip.

More tracer and cannon fire sprayed around. From the rear of the truck came a furious pounding as Kiwi opened up with the Browning. The steel-cored slugs were like cannon sh.e.l.ls, smashing through light armour. I loosed off a couple more grenades towards the flash of infantry weapons ahead of us. From the number of shots I estimated half a company at least, maybe fifty men.

The rest of our team was firing from the rear. I could trust my guys to fire aimed shots and not just blaze away wasting ammunition like the Argies.

Something struck the roof of the cab a hammer-blow, and the truck rocked under the impact. Almost at the same moment the windscreen starred and cracked as two holes were punched through by bullets. I leaned back inside for a moment to slot in a fresh magazine. I was aware of n.o.bby gripping the wheel and shouting at the top of his voice, but the noise of gunfire was so loud I couldn't make out the words. He was steering straight for the hangar which was now less than a hundred metres away, looming at us like a huge wall. Dimly through the smoke of battle I became aware of Concha's face beside me. Reaching out, I pushed her head down below the level of the dashboard.

A spray of bullets rattled against the side of the truck another machine-gun had found our range. I heard the squeal of tyres to our rear and a couple of quick-firing cannons opened up, sizzling round us like infuriated hornets. It felt like the entire Argentine army was shooting at us. A huge ball of fire flared up, away to the left our guys in the back must have hit a fuel bowser or a tanker. The lurid flames belched upward and blazing fuel spewed out across the concrete ap.r.o.n.

The searchlight still had us in its beam. "f.u.c.k you," I screamed at the top of my lungs. I worked the slide of my grenade launcher, ejecting the spent casing and slotting in a fresh round. The range was right at the limit. I aimed high and let fly. Someone in the back must have fired at the same time because I saw two bursts detonate just beneath the light source. The beam stayed on but swung round jerkily, pointing up at the sky. We must have knocked out the operators.

We were fifty metres from the hangar now. Another Jeep came roaring alongside, an Argentine standing up in the rear with an M-60 machine-gun, blazing away at us like a madman. A burst ripped through the roof of the cab, almost taking my head off. I fired back, aiming low to take out the driver. I saw him slump against the wheel and the Jeep swerved, hurling the machine-gunner around like a doll, his tracer cutting away through the night, scything towards his own side. The Jeep careered onwards, striking the snow plough blade a glancing blow. The huge metal prow flipped the vehicle over and it vanished behind us in a cloud of dust and snow.

More rounds screeched overhead, and I saw an armoured car that had us in its sights, pursuing us from the left rear one of those fast, lightly armoured tank-killers with an outsized cannon. Luckily for us, probably because the gunners were afraid of hitting the hangars, the sh.e.l.ls were falling behind us.

I could feel Kiwi's big gun pounding away at the back, firing in short, aimed bursts. The immense bullets, based on a German anti-tank rifle round, have a muzzle velocity of almost 1000 metres a second, and the weight and speed of the rounds produce a devastating impact.

The flames and smoke from the burning fuel were spreading out among the attackers to our rear, and their fire was slackening off for the moment. The heavy cannon had stopped shooting altogether either its gunners couldn't see any longer or they were afraid of hitting the hangar. n.o.bby was steering for the huge main doors with grim resolution. I saw a bunch of soldiers in front of us scatter as the huge truck thundered inexorably down on them. The doors were only thirty metres away now.

"Hang on!" I screamed out of the window. I might as well have been p.i.s.sing into the wind for all the good it would do. We were travelling at over fifty miles an hour and bullets fired wildly from behind were punching holes in the side of the hangar like giant hail. A burst of 30mm cannon chewed up the ap.r.o.n right before our wheels, gouging chunks from the concrete.

In the last seconds before impact n.o.bby dropped the blade of the plough so it would take the full impact. He was steering for the centre of the left-hand door, aiming at the widest part where the thin metal covering would be more likely to give way. The door came rushing towards us like a cliff face. I braced myself for the crash.

n.o.bby was still yelling inaudibly as the point of the plough struck the sheet metal, ripping it back like a giant tin opener. With a shriek of tortured steel the truck tore on through. n.o.bby and I ducked our heads as flaps of broken sheeting clanged across the bonnet but amazingly the windshield remained unscathed. A huge supporting beam bounced against the side of the hull with a boom that set my teeth rattling inside my head, as we burst inside the brilliantly lit hangar in a cloud of flying debris.

Directly in our path and, seen from the ground, more enormous than ever stood the huge plane. The soaring tail, as big on its own as a medium-sized airliner, reared up into the roof. The ramp was down and I could see straight into the cavernous hold. Amid the noise and smoke I was vaguely aware of hundreds of men in full battle kit with packs and rifles running like ants to escape the lumbering behemoth that had smashed in upon them the marines, caught in the act of boarding for their mission! Only moments had pa.s.sed since the shooting had erupted outside, and they stood wondering what to do as the world suddenly came crashing in around them.

We had burst in under the portside tail-fin. Immediately in our path was a mobile work gantry being towed out of the way by an electric tractor. Racing on, the point of the snow plough caught the tractor just behind the rear wheels, flipping it over like a toy. The fragile gantry toppled over, crashing down on to the outer tip of the wing like a heap of sticks. Dead ahead of us gaped the exhaust of the inboard engine.

Our tyres shrieked on the slick flooring as n.o.bby spun the wheel desperately. The truck heeled over, skidding between the inner and outer engine pods. As the shadow of the wing pa.s.sed overhead I held my rifle out of the window, muzzle upwards, and emptied the magazine into it.

The hammering sound of the Browning from the rear told me that Kiwi had brought his gun to bear. I pictured the heavy slugs ripping through the fuselage, tearing off great chunks, severing hydraulic lines and slicing through control surfaces. There was a swoosh and a deafening bang that echoed so loud through the hangar that for a second I thought the Argies had lost all control and were sh.e.l.ling us inside. Then I realised it was Doug with one of his RPGs.

I slammed in another magazine and raked the c.o.c.kpit through the window as we shot by. "Take that, you f.u.c.kers!" I shouted as I saw splashes of metal and gla.s.s fly.

There was another swish as someone else launched a rocket. This one I saw strike high on the fuselage, by the wing root a terrific red flash followed by a spurt of flame that blossomed across the wing as a fireball sprouted upwards, mushrooming into the roof s.p.a.ce. A wave of heat swept over us. The plane must have been fully fuelled up for the mission.

"f.u.c.k, we've done it!" I shouted to the others in the cab, delirious with excitement and battle fury. No way could this baby be made serviceable again. The hangar was filled with men running for their lives to get out before the whole place went up in another couple of minutes the flames would reach ammunition aboard the plane and we'd be done for.

n.o.bby was standing on the brakes and the truck's nose was slewing as the rear wheels broke away and we spun around like a rally car. Our tail smacked into another gantry, sending it flying into the hangar's rear wall. For a moment I thought we were going to follow it. I saw two soldiers running for their lives as we slid sideways on to them, smoke spewing from our tyres. Then they were gone, crushed into nothingness by the lethal blade of the plough.

The Globemaster's mid-section was a ma.s.s of flame by now, smoke belching up in oily clouds. n.o.bby was fighting to gain control of the wheel as we slid past the plane's bulbous snout. His clear intent was to circle right round the aircraft and drive back out the door again before the whole thing exploded on us. A hatch up on the flight deck was open and three figures were clawing their way down a ladder to the ground the flight crew, trying to escape from the c.o.c.kpit. Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, they stood no chance.

n.o.bby dropped down through the gears, pumping the throttle to get us moving round the aircraft's nose and down under the starboard wing to the hangar door a hundred metres away. I heard the thud of another detonation as a second fuel tank went up and the wingtip in front of us exploded into flame. The truck lumbered forward, engine racing. Billowing clouds of smoke rolled across the hangar, filling the cab with choking fumes. Everything went dark and the sudden heat was suffocating.

Jets of fire spurted up through the darkness as fuel lines burst in the heat. We were moving under the starboard wing now, n.o.bby desperately steering to avoid the burning engines. Smears of liquid avgas spattered the windshield. A fiery drizzle of flaming droplets shot through the smoke. Any moment now the whole wing could break up, drowning us in blazing fuel.

Our speed was picking up. Above the roar of the fires I could hear the note of the engine surging. There was the tail ramp ahead to our right now. Two hundred Argentine marines were struggling down it, throwing away their weapons and kit, frantic to escape the flames. I saw one, braver than the others, whip up his rifle as we pa.s.sed, but the sound of his shots was swallowed up in the cacophony. Other men by the door of the hangar were firing their rifles at us, the bullets pinging off the truck's heavy structure.

A furious marine leapt up against the door on my side, thrusting his machine pistol through the window. The muzzle caught me in the face, knocking me backwards. Christ, this is it, I thought.

There was a deafening explosion in my ear. Concha had picked up my45, the one I had taken from Oliveras, and fired it two-handed into the man's face. The marine's head burst into a b.l.o.o.d.y cloud and he flew from the truck. Concha had fired instinctively. Another second and the marine's weapon would have shredded me.

n.o.bby was swinging wide to build up speed. Through the smoke I could make out the shattered door of the hangar, hanging crazily from one end. Christ, I thought, how are we ever going to get through that without bringing the whole hundred-ton section crashing down on top of us?

Heaving on the wheel, n.o.bby wrestled the sluggish truck towards the gap. Fleeing marines scattered before the plough blade as we cleaved a path through the mob. An electric truck driven by a panicking Argentine powered past us, bowling men over without stopping.

As we neared the door I saw a great beam lying across the floor in front of us. A terrific blast shook the building and more wreckage crashed down from the roof. A ma.s.s of tangled metal sheeting blocked our path. Without slackening speed, n.o.bby swerved under the plane's giant tail. A marine plunged across our path, making for the hangar doors, risking being crushed in the desperation to escape. I grabbed the dash as the front tyres thudded over bits of debris, the truck's body lurching wildly.

n.o.bby was shouting to me. "It's no use, the door's f.u.c.king blocked!"

"We must leave the truck!" Concha cried, her eyes round and staring at the destruction all about us.

"No way!" I shouted back. "The marines outside have automatic weapons, they'd cut us down on foot. Try the rear again!" I yelled to n.o.bby. "There must be another way out!"

Before I'd finished there was a boom from our rear followed by a devastating crash that split the ap.r.o.n under the wrecked doorway fifty metres ahead of us. Bits of concrete fountained upwards, spraying the hangar. An armoured car had found its range and was shooting at us regardless of its fleeing comrades. n.o.bby spun the wheel over to the right and swung round beneath the burning Globemaster's tail, ploughing through the smoke towards the rear of the hangar, heedless of the faces that loomed up before him. There was a second boom and another sh.e.l.l screeched by, exploding against the wall of the hangar. The Argentine gunners must have been raging at the destruction we were causing. They were obviously determined to stop us now whatever the cost.

There came another ear-splitting crash and a huge sh.e.l.l tore in through the wall beside us, missing the truck by inches. It skimmed past the tail of the aircraft and exited through the far wall, detonating outside.

At the same moment a hail of small-arms fire broke out in our rear. Bullets whined and skipped overhead. Another sh.e.l.l crashed through the hangar wall and plunged into the fuselage of the Globemaster, exploding in a fireball of burning fuel. The armoured car outside was now firing full-calibre rounds directly into the hangar and to h.e.l.l with the consequences. An anti-tank rocket whizzed through the partly open door and detonated against a beam as the infuriated marines joined in with the clear intent of burning us alive.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

The aircraft was a ma.s.s of flames now. We had cut across the tail, completing our circle of the plane and were running along the port side again, swinging wide to avoid the blazing wing. An RPG, fired from outside, whizzed overhead and slammed against the rear wall of the hangar, detonating in a shower of molten steel fragments. More volleys of automatic fire from the marines outside sprayed through the doorway and peppered the sides of the building. Underlying the rifle fire came the deeper thud ... thud ... thud of a 30mm cannon. An armour-piercing round struck the edge of the snow plough in front of me, slicing neatly through the steel. A lubricant cart caught in a burst of incendiary rounds was ripped apart, spewing torrents of flaming oil across the floor.

There was a terrific crash behind my head and the cab bounced under the impact of a direct hit as the windshield dissolved in a hail of fragments. I looked round to see a gaping hole in the bulkhead behind me. A cannon sh.e.l.l had smashed through the thick steel of the tipper's body and continued into the cab, punching through the back of the seat where Concha had been sitting, and blowing through the gla.s.s. If I hadn't pushed her down into the foot well she would have been torn in half.

Another thunderous explosion shook the hangar and flames spouted up towards the roof. I couldn't tell if it was another sh.e.l.l from the 105mm or the Globemaster's fuel tanks igniting. A tongue of roaring flame darted from the flight's deck hatch and a figure sprang out, burning like a torch. At least his end was quick.

Kiwi's Browning was still banging away behind. There was a crash from overhead and large lumps of debris came tumbling down. Either the wild firing or the heat from the blazing aircraft was bringing down the roof, trapping us in.

There was a shout in my ear. Doug had thrust his face into the hole smashed in the rear of the cab. "Josh has stopped a bullet and one of the Argies has bought it."

"We can't take the front," I yelled back. "The f.u.c.king door's blocked and that armoured car would cut us to pieces the moment we showed ourselves. Our only chance is to try the rear!"

The smoke was so thick it was almost impossible to breathe. I thought of telling everyone to bail out, but the chances of us finding a side door were a hundred to one. The Argies would shoot us down like rats if the fumes didn't get us first. Well, at least we had destroyed one of the planes and probably torpedoed their plans for invasion. Back at Hereford our names would be inscribed on the clock tower and the Regiment would celebrate our stand against two battalions of Argentine marines.

But then, f.u.c.k it, I thought we weren't finished yet. I shouted to n.o.bby: "Crash through all that junk and try to gouge a big enough hole for us to crawl out."

He nodded grimly. It was the only hope we had.

He revved the engine and swung the wheel over, and for a moment I thought he had misunderstood what I was saying. Then I realised he was circling us round to gain momentum. The truck heeled round, crunching bits of debris and pieces of equipment beneath its ma.s.sive wheels. n.o.bby was squinting red-eyed through the smoke, trying to see beyond the end of the bonnet. The plane was no more than a wall of flames licking up into the roof. The roar of the fire was so intense that we no longer noticed the flying bullets. The heat made the paintwork on the truck blister and bubble before our eyes. Concha was gagging on the smoke somewhere down by my feet. I reached down to brace her shoulder as we stormed blindly onward.

A burning Jeep suddenly loomed in our path. "s.h.i.t!" n.o.bby yelled and spun the wheel without slackening speed. The truck lurched, tipping sideways. n.o.bby caught it somehow, and we straightened up and pounded on. The smoke was pouring in so thickly that we couldn't even make one another out. If we hit the end wall of the hangar head on we might stand a chance, but if we struck one of the main beams we'd probably bounce off and the impact of the collision would very likely throw us all out.

Dimly I was conscious of more of the roof collapsing around us. Drops of burning fuel scorched our flesh and we seemed to be moving through a world of darkness shot with writhing flame. I felt my hair smouldering, and the skin on the backs of my hands blistered and shrivelled. My mouth and throat were scorched by the fumes and heat. I heard n.o.bby yell as a long finger of flame licked through his smashed side window, searing his face. The truck b.u.mped over something unseen in the smoke and lurched on, engine roaring.

We saw fire ahead of us, crimson and blue flames feeding on the smoke. I never saw the wall coming. One moment there was nothing but leaping flames, and the next brought the loudest crash I had ever heard. I was flung back against the rear of the seat and my head bounced off the bulkhead behind me. Something huge and black smashed into the cab and the entire truck seemed to leap into the air, dropping again with a jarring thud that hurled me up against the roof, then forward on to the dash. The door beside me sprang open and I felt myself slide helplessly from the seat. I scrabbled at the dash to stop myself before an instant later the door was slammed shut again with incredible violence, knocking me across the cab into n.o.bby's lap.

I felt a draught of cooler air against my face and gulped breaths thankfully into my tortured throat and lungs. Still the truck ground onward, accompanied by the shriek of tearing metal. The smoke in front cleared momentarily and I glimpsed the snow-covered ground outside. The cab was out, and the rest of the body was sc.r.a.ping through the gap. Incredibly we had battered our way out of the hangar.

With a final lurch the truck heaved itself clear and our wheels scrunched over the carpet of snow. We were out of the hangar and crossing the parking area behind. It was still dark, but the flaming building cast a lurid light over the scene. The hangar was completely ablaze now. Part of the roof had fallen in, and flames were leaping out. Dense smoke was rolling across the airfield, but firing still persisted out on the ap.r.o.n and strings of tracer curved through the sky. I glanced across to the right and saw that the second hangar was burning. A stray sh.e.l.l must have set it alight too.

The truck was jolting forward over the gra.s.s as n.o.bby grasped the wheel almost in a trance. One headlamp was still functioning, casting a yellow-eyed glare upon the virgin snow. "Kill it!" I shouted to him. "Kill the light!" My voice sounded hoa.r.s.e and faraway; I'd been partially deafened by the noise in the hangar.

n.o.bby pulled himself together and switched off the headlamp, and we drove on in silence. The smoke and confusion seemed to have masked our escape for the moment. Now we were in total darkness.

"The fence!" I shouted to n.o.bby. "Try to make for the gates, it's the only way out through the minefield." If we could only make it off the airbase, there was a chance we could run for the border in the truck.

Concha scrambled coughing out of the foot well She stared round blankly at the shattered cab and the snowy airfield lit by the immense fires behind us. Still no shots came our way as we stormed on through the darkness.

"I'm going back to check on the others," I said. I wanted to find out how badly Josh had been hit. I opened the side door and, clinging on to the cab, pulled myself round and up into the back of the truck. In the flickering red light I saw a number of sand-encrusted figures emerge. The sides of the truck were torn and gouged by bullet tracks, but the industrial-gauge steel had held the thing together.

"The worst hit we took was a thirty-mil round fired from behind," Doug told me, wiping his mouth and eyes. "The f.u.c.ker penetrated the steel at the rear end and detonated at shallow depth. We took a shower of splinters. One of the Argentines copped it. Then as we were approaching the second hangar a burst of machine-gun fire ricocheted off the side wall and Josh caught one in the belly."

A stomach wound was one we all dreaded. I knelt down in the jolting truck to talk to Josh. He was lying still on his back in the sand. A sh.e.l.l dressing was packed tight against his stomach to stem the bleeding and he was holding an intravenous drip bottle in his hand. "How's it going?" I asked him gently.

"Not so bad, boss," he answered tightly. "Comes and goes." He meant the pain. You can't do anything to sedate a stomach wound. Morphine makes you feel sick, and coughing or retching only does more damage. So you just have to take the pain as best you can. Josh's breathing was steady, and when I felt his pulse it was running around a hundred a minute not too bad in the circ.u.mstances. As long as we could hold the bleeding and keep his fluid levels up he should last out. The pain would be the worst bit. Getting him to hold his own IV bottle at least gave him something to do and kept his mind busy. Also we would notice quickly if he lost consciousness.

"We're going to make a run for the border," I told him. "With luck we should manage it in a couple of hours and then we'll get you to a doctor. So just hang in there till then, OK?"

He grinned weakly. We both knew it couldn't be that simple. "Sure, boss. Sorry I screwed up."

"Don't be stupid. You did good. I'll see that goes in the report."