The Division Collection Page 13

  Good; no sniper weapons.

  Archer gauged they were about two hundred and fifty metres from him now, giving him a decent buffer from the short-barrelled M4s. He hadn’t seen a scope on any of the rifles and it was unlikely any of them would have the skills to hit him at that range on iron sights. The G3’s scope and heavier calibre gave him a distinct advantage now, even without his own skills.

  He figured there were at least two guys left in the Rangey, most likely including the commander. Archer began working his way forward, rolling over the stone walls and crossing the paddocks until he figured he was about a hundred metres away. The camber of the ground afforded some protection. He knew the three enemy would be moving slower with having to climb the bank at the side of the road first, and would be wary of his sniping.

  He carefully checked over the wall in front of him, seeing a shooter jumping the wall two paddocks away. A quick peek through a gap in the side wall showed the Rangey about eighty metres away, parked on the shoulder of the road with the engine running.

  Archer readied the HK-79, adjusting the sights and carefully calculating the angle. He worked a rock loose to widen the gap he’d found and took aim.

  The grenade sailed through the air and landed directly in front of the Rangey, exploding with a roar and throwing the front of the wagon off the ground. He slipped a second HE round into the chamber and took aim again, seeing both front doors open as the occupants tried to escape.

  The second grenade went through the windscreen and blew all the windows and doors out, engulfing the two shooters in flames. Archer reloaded as the Rangey exploded with a thunderous bang and roar of flames. Pieces of shrapnel scattered and black smoke billowed skyward.

  He rose above the wall and spotted two of the shooters standing and watching the carnage as if dumbfounded. The third was looking in his direction and shouted a warning, unleashing a volley of fire that threw up tufts of grass in the paddock metres in front of Archer.

  The G3 spat fire back, a three round burst blowing chunks of stone off the wall in front of the three enemy. They dropped from sight and Archer crabbed to his right, taking up a new position near the middle of the wall. He readied the 79 again and sent a grenade their way.

  It exploded behind them and he heard a scream. Wild rifle fire erupted as they panicked and he gave them a couple of seconds before launching his next grenade, dropping it neatly behind them as they bolted back across the paddock, two of them dragging the third between them.

  The concussion knocked them off their feet and he saw one of them grabbing at his leg, peppered with shrapnel. The third shooter got to his feet and ran, abandoning his comrades. Archer brought the G3 up and watched the man hurl himself over the next wall.

  A second later he could be seen still sprinting away, his rifle discarded. Archer contemplated for a second then snugged the rifle butt against his cheek. He sighted on the man who was now a good two hundred metres away, slowed his breathing and let it out, waiting.

  As the shooter reached the next stone wall he put both hands on top and vaulted, swinging his legs up to the right. A 7.62mm round shattered his left hip and he was thrown forward, landing in a screaming heap. He possibly wouldn’t die, which was okay. If he didn’t then two things would result; the security services or Police would get a chance to have a crack at him, and he would automatically be a liability to his employer – a liability that might force them into doing something silly.

  Archer turned and ran, faintly hearing sirens in the far distance. Presumably a farmer had heard all the action and called at least the fire service but probably the cops as well. They needed to move.

  He paused to toss a white phosphorous grenade into the Saab as he passed, and it exploded behind him as he made ground to catch up to Tracy and Boyle.

  They were hunkered down in a clump of undergrowth when he caught up. Tracy’s top was stained with sweat and she was sucking in deep breaths through her nose. She paused to take a long draught of water as Archer joined them.

  Boyle was stirring, finally waking from his drugged stupor. He slowly focussed and shifted his gaze from one to the other, his teeth pulling back into a snarl as he recognised them. He started to speak, then retched and vomited on his own lap. He brought up a second deposit then flopped back, panting and swearing at them through a thick tongue.

  Archer poured some water in his face and mouth, and started to roll him onto his side so he didn’t choke. Boyle spat the dirty water back in his face with a sneer and tried to buck at him. Tracy quickly dropped a knee on his back and held him down while Archer re-applied the chloroform pad, holding it tight until Boyle stopped thrashing again and went back to sleep.

  ‘Not sure how many times you can do that,’ Archer commented, putting the pack away. He shrugged. ‘Oh well.’

  He handed her the rifle and mags. While he hefted the prisoner onto his shoulder Tracy dialled Livingstone again. The conversation was short and a minute later a text bleeped on her phone, giving them map co-ordinates for an RV. Archer tramped on, constantly scanning the surrounds while she navigated. Three columns of smoke spiralled up behind them, providing an easy guide for the emergency services that he was certain would be blue-lighting there, if they were not on site already.

  The sun was up now and Boyle was a dead weight, one that stunk of sweat and vomit. He tried to block out the discomfort and concentrate on getting some distance between them and the scene of the fire-fight.

  ‘About three miles,’ Tracy said from behind him. ‘Keep straight and aim for that stone shed at one o’clock.’

  The sound of rotors came across the farmland and Tracy spotted an incoming heli.

  ‘Cover!’

  They made it to a small dip and tucked down, covering their heads and hoping they hadn’t been seen. The heli, which bore the coastguard colours, flew by and headed towards the scene a couple of miles back without appearing to have seen them.

  They were up and moving again within seconds, beset with a sense of real urgency now. If they were caught with the weapons and a drugged prisoner, Archer had no doubt the Government – both of them, for that matter – would deny any knowledge and they would be facing a lengthy jail sentence.

  He dug it in, concentrating on one step at a time, pounding across the rough ground with the M-79 bumping against his thigh and Boyle’s dead weight pressing down into his shoulder and neck. Tracy kept them on track and within half an hour they were less than a mile from the RV point.

  Tracy dug out her phone and sent a text update to Livingstone, without getting a reply. As he maintained the steady pace Archer couldn’t shake the thought that they were playing behind the eight ball. Whoever the ambushers had been – Iraqi? Saudi? Iranian? – they had known Boyle’s movements. Their attack was not something thrown together at the last minute, and he and Tracy had been bloody lucky to get out alive.

  Whoever those guys were, they either had as good intel as the spooks, or they had another way of tracking Boyle. And what was their motivation? Kill him? Capture him? The use of flash bangs rather than frags indicated the latter – but why?

  Archer shifted the thought aside for now; it was too much to think about and he needed to keep his wits about him until they’d handed over their prisoner and got the hell out of Dodge.

  He dug it in up a rise, and sensed Tracy move up alongside him.

  ‘Other side of this rise,’ she said, ‘less than half a klick to go.’

  ‘Great,’ he grunted, ‘this prick stinks.’

  Tracy went ahead and crawled to the lip of the rise, doing a visual clearance before waving Archer forward.

  31

  They crested the rise cautiously and dropped down into a small valley.

  A long track led from a farm road to a barn that stood with the doors closed. As they got nearer Archer could see fresh tyre tracks on the path and one of the doors opened slightly.

  When they got to the doors a guy in jeans, a long coat and an earpiece opened the door and le
t them in, sliding a bolt across behind them. He had a Walther MPL sub machine gun front-slung, and looked like he knew how to use it. A similar looking character stood in the loft on the far side of the barn, watching out through a small vent.

  Two Fords were parked in the middle of the barn, the closest one a dark blue Transit van with tinted windows, a plain red Mondeo sedan behind it.

  Matthew Livingstone appeared from behind the van, a wide grin on his face.

  ‘Well done,’ he said, sticking out his hand to shake Tracy’s. ‘Safe and secure?’

  Archer grunted and dumped Boyle unceremoniously on the dirty floor. ‘As safe and secure as we can be with a hunter force after us and all the cops in the district scouring the countryside, yeah.’

  Livingstone brushed the comment aside and extended his hand. Archer reluctantly shook it. It was soft and moist and he released the grip quickly.

  ‘No problem,’ Livingstone said breezily, ‘we’ll take care of it from here. You two get yourselves tidied up and back to London. We’ll speak later.’

  The spotter up the top shimmied down a ladder and helped his colleague shift Boyle into the back of the Transit. The terrorist was stirring again, and without warning vomited on the hands of the closest heavy. The guy didn’t say a word – neither of them had yet spoken – just wiped his hands carefully on Boyle’s jacket and continued shifting him.

  They placed him in a single seat that was bolted to the floor with his back against the side wall. They cut the cable ties and strapped him into the seat by the arms and ankles. A matching seat faced it, and one of the heavies took a position there.

  Boyle was awake properly now, and turned to look at his captors. He sneered at Archer and Tracy. ‘We’ll meet again,’ he said, his tone thick with venom, ‘and we’ll see who’s laughin’ then, shall we?’

  ‘Nobody’s laughing mate, ‘Archer replied evenly, ‘although you are a fuckin’ joke.’

  ‘Save it,’ Livingstone cut in, shutting the rear doors as Boyle launched into a stream of obscenities. He indicated for the second heavy to get in and handed a set of keys to Tracy. ‘It’s one of ours,’ he said, ‘just drop it back in the pool when you get back.’ He turned to go but Archer stopped him with a hand on the arm.

  ‘Hold up there, doctor,’ he said, and Livingstone raised an eyebrow. Archer ushered them both away from the van to avoid eavesdropping. ‘You’ve got a problem.’

  ‘My problem is that we should be on the road by now.’

  ‘No, your problem is that whoever bumped us has just as good intel as you do. Maybe better.’

  There was silence for a few moments as Livingstone took that in. ‘It is concerning that these guys turned up,’ he agreed.

  ‘It’s more than concerning, mate,’ Archer retorted. ‘As far as I can see it means either you’ve got a leak somewhere or that crew – whoever they are – are dialled into him somehow. I don’t know how, but I’m guessing it means either they have an informant like you guys do, or they’ve gone electronic on him.’

  Tracy nodded in agreement but said nothing. It confused Archer that despite her obvious skills and cool head in the field, she was still intimidated by a pasty office guy in a suit.

  ‘I’m thinking they must be electronic,’ Livingstone finally said, staring at a spot over Archer’s shoulder as he thought aloud. ‘Our systems are pretty damn robust, so I doubt we have a leak.’ He held his hands up placatingly as Archer opened his mouth to protest. ‘But I will look into it. Trust me, I will.’ He smiled again and touched them each on the arm. ‘You two get away now and rest up, it’s been a hell of a day for you. We’ll need to debrief later.’

  He adopted a serious tone. ‘Sincerely guys, the Firm owes you a big thank you. Boyle’s a very bad man who needs to be off the streets.’ He nodded to them and headed to the van.

  Archer opened the barn doors long enough to let them out before shedding all his gear into the boot of the Mondeo. Tracy opened a water bottle and was about to start washing her face when Archer stopped her.

  ‘In a minute,’ he told her firmly. ‘Sort out your weapons first, then your gear, then yourself. Right?’

  She pulled a face. ‘Man, you’re a squaddie through and through aren’t you?’

  ‘And it’s kept me alive so far.’ He cleared his weapons and made them safe, keeping the Sig in his waistband for now.

  Tracy followed suit and they secured the longs in the boot. Their grab bags were emptied of food and water and also stashed, along with their dirtied jackets. Tracy located a pair of hoodies in the front seat, which they donned before quickly washing off the obvious dirt and grime from their exposed skin.

  Archer took the wheel and they left the barn behind, guzzling water and necking the food rations they had – chocolate, muesli bars and trail mix. Within a few minutes they were onto a decent road and heading north.

  They could see a couple of heli’s still up a few miles away and Archer was concerned they would be caught in a roadblock. When they got near Hayle they found a checkpoint being set up, but the pair of officers were still putting cones out and not paying attention, so Archer cruised on past without incident. Soon they were on the A30 and making good time. Archer expected Tracy to be exhausted but she seemed to be agitated instead. Her face was pinched tight and she was staring fixedly out the side window.

  All of a sudden she dry retched and put a hand to her mouth, waving at him with the other hand. Archer slid to the shoulder and braked hard, seeing her door open before the car had even stopped.

  He sat and avoided staring while she threw up. After a few minutes she sat back and shut the door, wiping her nose and mouth.

  ‘Alright?’

  She nodded, not looking at him. He slipped the car into gear and got moving. The hum of the road filled the Mondeo until he spoke again.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said softly, ‘it happens to the best of us.’

  Tracy said nothing, just stared at the passing countryside.

  ‘First time up close?’

  She nodded slightly and glanced quickly at him then away again.

  ‘My first time wasn’t too flash. It was messy and scary and confusing.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘It just wasn’t pleasant.’

  Tracy turned back to the front now, tucking her hands under her thighs. ‘What d’you mean, confusing?’

  He thought for a moment before responding. ‘A lot of noise and action. And it was very quick.’

  ‘Not confusing then as in you weren’t sure...’ Her voice trailed off and she went back to staring out the window.

  Archer let her be and concentrated on driving. He was tired and achy and keen to get back to the hotel. Suddenly Tracy turned in her seat and spoke again.

  ‘So it’s not unpleasant anymore?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said your first time was not pleasant. Is it pleasant now?’ Her tone was almost accusing. ‘Do you enjoy it now?’

  Archer frowned and carefully considered his answer. ‘No, it’s not pleasant. It’s not pleasant like a good meal or an enjoyable occasion. It’s satisfying to survive.’ He frowned at her. ‘And it’s satisfying to know you’ve done a good job.’

  Tracy’s brow furrowed into lines and she pursed her lips.

  ‘It’s not wrong to think that,’ he said harshly. ‘We all play the game and we all want to win, but someone has to lose. You just hope to God it’s not you.’ He looked back to the front again, scowling now. ‘And if it is, well...you just make sure you take some of the bastards with you.’

  ‘Well I think we managed to do that today, don’t you?’ she said, still turned away.

  ‘We did what we needed to do. They brought the fight to us; we didn’t go looking for it.’ Archer was speaking through gritted teeth now. ‘They got what was coming to them.’

  ‘Huh.’ Tracy snorted derisively. ‘That’s a very cold way of looking at it. I saw you, the way you were...excited. Like a schoolboy playing war with his mates, all
Boy’s Own Adventure.’ Her eyes were hot as she glared at him. ‘Only some of them didn’t walk away.’

  ‘Who gives a fuck?’ Archer braked hard again and jerked the car into a lay-by, stopping quickly as he turned in his seat to face her. ‘Honestly, who gives a shit if those pricks got taken out? They were fuckin’ terrorists and our job is to beat them at their own game. They ambushed us, we fought back and got away, and killed some of them in the process. So fuckin’ what? They’re evil cunts and the world’s a better place today. I for one won’t lose a wink of sleep over them.’ He held her angry stare before shaking his head in frustration. ‘You did good back there so I don’t know what you’re so shitty about.’

  ‘I’m not shitty!’ she fired back hotly.

  ‘Well if you can’t handle it then you better fuck off back to being a spook and leave the dirty work to the big boys,’ he snarled. ‘I can’t work with you if you’re going to break down afterwards.’

  Tracy’s hand shot out and he caught it by the wrist a hair’s breadth from his cheek. They glared at each other as they both strained. Finally Tracy relented and eased back.

  ‘I’m not shitty,’ she said softly, ‘I was just scared. I killed two guys today and I don’t know how I should be feeling about it.’ She shook her head gently. ‘I’m not shitty.’

  Archer studied her quietly. ‘It’s normal,’ he said, ‘just let it ride. You’ll be fine.’

  She gave a small nod and started to turn away again. Archer put his hand on her arm and she paused. ‘Look at me, Tracy.’

  She reluctantly turned towards him, her eyes slowly lifting to his face.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, giving her a reassuring nod. ‘You will be.’

  She gave the small nod again and turned back in her seat. He could see the tension in her shoulders release a notch. ‘And I can’t believe you took down a helicopter,’ he added.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You just blew a bloody chopper out of the sky, as cool and calm as you like. If that’s not Boy’s Own Adventure, I don’t know what is.’