wall beside the gate, catching his breath in short gasps, and tightening the straps on his Kevlar helmet.
‘All right sir?’ he grunted.
Carter nodded. ‘I’m fine. It’s those poor bastards outside I’m worried about.’
They could hear the Minimi continuing to fire in short disciplined, regular bursts. But they were becoming shorter and the pauses between them longer.
‘Whatever we do sir, it’s got to be quick.’
Carter nodded. ‘Sergeant, I don’t know their call-sign, I haven’t learned yet who’s—’
‘Those lads are part of Yankee-two-two, sir.’
The young officer nodded. ‘Okay, okay. Right.’ He looked anxiously around the compound as he bit his bottom lip, thinking.
‘Sir, we’ve got to do something now,’ barked Sergeant Bolton impatiently.
Carter peeked around the wall at the three men. The man on top cover was still firing. The other two were offering sporadic double-taps from the rear of the Rover, whilst the ground around them danced with plumes of dust and sparks that sprayed off the pock-marked, bullet-dented metal of the vehicle.
He touched the push-to-talk button of his radio and did his best to speak calmly into the throat mic. ‘Yankee-two-two . . . this is Yankee-two-zero. You’ve got to make a run for it lads. We’ll give you covering fire from the gate and the wall.’
‘Fucking make it quick, sir!’ the crackling response came back from one of the three men.
Carter turned to Bolton. ‘Sergeant, get some of our boys up on the wall.’ He looked around and saw there was a stacked pile of wooden pallets in the corner of the compound. ‘Use those to stand on. And rally a section over here by the gate. We’ll assemble some firepower here, all right?’
Sergeant Bolton nodded and began issuing voice commands on a separate channel.
‘And Sergeant, I want a man watching those three Iraqi gents we have with us.’
Bolton acknowledged that, and then jogged across the compound with a confidence and an aura of invincibility that Carter would have given anything to possess.
A few moments later, eight men of his platoon, including a burly-looking Fijian, were shifting the pallets across the ground to the base of the seven-foot cinder-block and plaster wall and stacking them high enough to allow them to see over.
The chatty Geordie lance corporal - Westley - scrambled over and slumped against the wall beside Carter, followed by a section of twelve men, who all followed his lead and fell in against the rough cinder blocks. Carter turned to see a line of anxious young faces studying him intently and waiting anxiously for their CO to formulate a way out of this mess for them.
‘All right lads, first thing we’re doing is getting Yankee-two-two out of that fix and in here with us. Then . . . then we’ll deal with the next thing on the list. Okay?’
Shit Robin . . . never bloody well ask them if an order’s ‘okay’.
‘So, that’s what we’re doing,’ he hastily added. ‘On my command take half this section out through the gate and break right. There’s a truck you and your men can use for cover. I’ll take the other half, and we’ll cover your move from the gateway. When you’re settled in we’ll come out break left, and we’ll all give those lads out there covering fire. Hopefully that’ll give them enough time to scarper over here. You got it?’
‘Aye sir,’ nodded Westley.
‘All right, take up your position on the other side of this gateway. Let’s get ready.’
Outside Carter could hear that the Minimi’s chattering bursts were diminishing in length and frequency. The bloke firing it - damn, he wished he’d had a little more time to learn their names - was clearly doing his best to conserve the last of his ammo, yet keep firing often enough to hold the crowd back.
Westley slapped six of his comrades on the shoulder and led them in a loping dash across the open gateway to the wall on the other side of the compound’s entrance, where they squatted in a row, ready to go.
No time to waste. Do it.
‘Yankee-two-two,’ said Carter over the radio, ‘we’re coming out to give you covering fire. On my command just get the fuck out of there and get over here.’
He looked over his shoulder to see that Sergeant Bolton had some men hunkered down on top of the pallets and ready to give covering fire over the top of the wall. He nodded to Bolton and then turned back to face Lance Corporal Westley on the far side of the gate.
He raised his hand