I gripped Dom, the stench of shit burning deep into my sinuses. 'This is as far as we go, all right?'
He pointed frantically to a fallen wall about fifteen away. 'There, Peter, look!'
A body lay motionless in the half-light, face down on the wasteground.
Pete started filming. With his camera's night-viewing capability he could see better than we could. 'He's got one round through the nut and there's an AK next to him.'
Dom spotted another body sprawled on the road further on, just before the warren where the patrol must be. The snipers couldn't have missed the fuckers at that range.
SA80s stuttered behind us back in the street. Pete arranged Dom at the edge of the alley so he had the body in the background. Dom started gobbing off to camera in hushed and dramatic Polish.
Above us, another sniper added to the soundtrack. It was going to be award-winning footage.
17
Pete was still filming as a burst of AK screamed out of the warren. The rounds zinged over our heads and into the walls behind us.
Pete jerked the camera away from Dom. 'Tel!'
I turned to see a body staggering out of a half-demolished building and into the wasteground.
It was a Rifleman – the dome of his helmet was silhouetted against the distant glow. He stumbled a few steps more and fell.
Pete pushed the camera into Dom's hands and legged it across the wasteground.
'Pete, stop!'
Either he couldn't hear me or he didn't want to. I shoved Dom back against the wall. 'Stay here!'
I tried to gain ground and catch up with him but it wasn't long before my boots were sinking into calf-deep puddles of sewage.
The Rifleman lay prone on the ground. Sniper fire cracked off above us. The rest of the patrol was now engaged in a contact inside the warren. As long as they kept the fire going I could get Pete and the Rifleman – if he was still alive – back into cover.
Pete was bent over the body. I fell on my knees next to him. Sewage splashed up my Osprey.
Pete must have spotted Terry through the viewfinder. The boy groaned.
'Pete, he's OK, he's alive. Come on, let's get him up.'
Terry had taken a couple of rounds into his front plate. The force would have knocked him to the ground, but he wasn't injured, just bruised. He lay there in shock at still being alive. 'Fuck . . . fuck . . .'
For Pete it was relief.
'Get up, both of you. Come on!'
I grabbed Pete as a scream from the snipers told us to get out of the killing ground. They cracked a couple of rounds over our heads.
I looked up towards the warren as a body dropped just metres away. His AK hit the ground before he did.
More bodies poured from the darkness. They weren't firing.
'Run! They're going to lift us!'
Pete and Terry were on their feet. I pushed them on through the stinking mud as the snipers tried to cover us.
It was too late.
An arm appeared from behind me. Then I felt hot breath on my neck and a head against my shoulders. He tightened the armlock, and the world was full of grunts and stale tobacco. His weight was dragging me down. The Velcro of my PRR ear pad ripped away and fell to the ground.
Other bodies swarmed over Pete and Terry but they were going down fighting. There was nothing I could do for them until I was free.
The screams, gunfire and Warrior engines receded into the background as I jerked left and right, pushing my head back to nut him, anything to get the fucker off me.
My knees buckled. I fell to the ground and he collapsed on top of me. I kicked, pushed, punched, anything to get him off so Barney – anyone – could take a shot.
I kicked out but this boy was massive and he kept hold. Wet with shit, his hair slapped against my face. We tumbled into a shallow ditch. I made a grab for his head and tried to butt him.
We rolled over and over in the shit puddles. I saw the stars, and the next thing I knew my face was in the mud. I tried to keep my mouth shut, but I had to breathe. It was like holding your mouth and nose as a kid after taking a deep breath, then carrying on until it becomes unbearable and keeping on going a few seconds past that.