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I walked out of the graveyard in a daze. Sharpe had mentioned a crashed AV on the edge of the green zone that might furnish us with supplies and a place to hide out while we compared notes and decided on our next move. My mind was buzzing with disparate thoughts and emotions. I might see Davey again, I’d have to kill him, he might not be like the other grey men, he was strong and could fight it, he might be exactly the same and would kill me – SHIT! A hand touched my arm and I jumped out of my skin.
It was Sara Barratt, she mouthed,
‘You okay?’
I nodded then shook my head, tears were starting again. Hesitantly Sara put an arm around my shoulders. Warm, sympathetic touch was the last thing I needed and my icy self-control crumbled. I started to sob uncontrollably and felt both her arms go around me. A girly hug ‘n cry later, I composed myself, smiled my thanks at her. The men just rolled their eyes and I signed,
‘One word from you Pete O’Donnell and I’ll kick your butt.’
‘I know.’ he grinned and turned to carry on. Blood exploded from his shoulder and we hit the ground in unison. This fucking area was hosting a psychopath’s convention. I wondered again about evil being attracted to places where violent death had visited. Rock spurted up about two inches in front of me as our friendly neighbourhood sniper fired again. I quickly signed to Sara,
‘How many shots, any idea of direction?’
‘Two rounds, fired from high vantage point, probably that building to the left.’
A third round kicked up more grit and I frowned, what was going on? One hit, two misses, I communicated my worries to John Sharpe, he responded,
‘Don’t know. Sounds like an SVD sniper’s rifle, 7.62 mill.’
‘Kill range of 2 and a bit miles, ten rounds per clip.’ I finished, I read gun magazines too. This was serious though, our weaponry wouldn’t manage more than two hundred yards and our attacker was packing a specialised rifle designed to hit and kill from two miles away. We were about a mile from the sniper which gave him/her plenty of scope. He (I decided our attacker was a he, I was a bit pissed off with men) hadn’t finished us off though and I didn’t like that. I twisted around and scanned the area for movement. Sharpe was already doing the same and I guessed he must have had the same thought. We were being held for somebody or something else to finish off. Pete was down but not out by any means. However he’d need that arm seeing to at some point in the near future.
A stone hit my hand, thrown by Sharpe, who pointed,
‘Company, bad, five, grey robes.’
I squinted in the direction he indicated. Bilford Hill was mostly flattened stony rubble and grey was damn good camouflage. I saw a figure crawling towards our position, then lie flat. I sighted along the barrel of my Uzi, held my breath and hoped. The grey-robe moved, I fired, short burst, five rounds at most. It fell and didn’t move again, and then there were four. Sara crawled to my side,
‘Just heard shots and screams from sniper’s position. Ideas?’
I grinned, had to be Horace and Boris, they took great exception to their momma being shot at. I conveyed this theory to her and her eyes widened,
‘Imps – wow.’
‘Eh?’
‘Sorry, Involuntarily Manifested Protectors – I.M.P. for short. Heard of it but never seen one.’ A handful of gravel landed from O’Donnell’s direction,
‘Stop yakking, they’re on the move.’ The grey-robes were, indeed, on the move. But they weren’t taking anything for granted and if one of them got close enough to throw a grenade we were screwed. Sharpe started to scramble forwards and I cut to his left. Barratt and O’Donnell would give us covering fire but nobody wanted to waste too much ammunition. I had two spare clips for the Uzi and the Browning was fully loaded, that wasn’t exactly an infinite supply and it would be embarrassing if we had to surrender because we ran out of bullets. Sharpe opened his mouth and I read ‘Give up and you won’t be harmed.’ This made sense, Sharpe was trying to psyche them out. We’d already killed one of their number and the sniper had suddenly dropped off his perch. They were probably wondering about their chances, four on four.
Their response was to fire at us and Sharpe ducked down until they finished. I lay still, watching his face. He would hear footsteps and I needed to know when to move. After a moment he mouthed,
‘Now’
We both rolled over twice before rising to our knees, aiming and firing. The unexpected change in direction gave us a vital second’s advantage. We killed all of them, I stood wearily and went back to Pete and Sara. I was getting sick of this.
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In five hundred years time, most of us will be forgotten dust. But Hitler will still be remembered, God loves irony.
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Fear book 3 - part 9
