Kara’s Game

Yesterday she and Jovan had finished the beans, so today she would have to run the gauntlet of the bridge and the shells. Either that or she would have to dig into the supplies of potatoes and carrots she and Adin had grown last summer; but the sacks were already almost empty and the winter was not even half over. She pulled on an extra coat, laced up her boots, waited until another shell had fallen, and went outside. The cold took her breath away. She had two minutes before the next shell, she told herself, three if she was lucky. She grabbed a handful of wood from under the cover at the side of the garden, went back inside, and dumped it by the stove. Wait till after the next shell, she reminded herself. Get on with it, she thought; she had been cowering under the fear of the shells for too long. She went outside again. The bucket by the well was frozen to the ground; she kicked it loose, dropped it down the shaft, and heard the clank as it struck the ice. She pulled it up and dropped it again, heard the ice crack and felt the bucket fill. Heard the whine of the mortar in the sky and knew she should have waited. Froze like the water had frozen then heard the thump in the new town.

When she went back inside Jovan was looking at her. She kissed him and lit the stove. Tonight she shouldn’t let the fire go out, she told herself; she had enough wood to keep it in. And if she ran out she could collect more from the woods on the hillsides above the house. Except that the woods might be mined – she wasn’t sure, but Adin had told her to be careful, not to go anywhere near them. So she couldn’t go to the woods, but she could salvage some scraps from the remnants of the houses down the road, as long as someone else hadn’t beaten her to it.

‘Mummy,’ Jovan’s eyes were large and staring. ‘My tummy’s hurting again.’

‘Where?’ She held him in her arms and felt his forehead. The skin was warm and slightly clammy, not cold as it should have been. She pressed his stomach carefully and gently, and felt the relief when he did not jerk in pain. Probably stomach cramp because he was hungry, she thought. She moved her hand slightly, to the right of his stomach and slightly down, and pressed again, felt him recoil in pain. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, told herself. ‘It’ll be all right after I’ve made us something to eat.’ In the sky above she heard the next shell.

‘Location confirmed?’ Finn asked Steve.

‘Confirmed.’

Christ it was cold, but they wouldn’t be here long. And they’d got themselves a good position. Hadn’t been able to dig in, of course, but they hadn’t expected to. Instead they’d found themselves an OP under the lower branches of some trees, which gave them at least some protection from the weather, plus having direct line of sight to the gun positions at the head of the valley and on the other side. Two of them up front and two at the rear covering them.

‘Zero, this is Charlie Two One. Over.’

‘Charlie Two One, this is Zero. Roger. Over.’

Finn spoke the details of his report and the grid references of the targets into the mike of the radio, then pressed the activate button. The computerized set scrambled the message and transmitted it on burst – fifteen seconds of report condensed into a micro-second, no possibility of it being intercepted, and no indication they were there.

‘Zero. Roger. Out.’

His position could have been better, Janner was aware. They’d made it in easily enough, established the grid references of the gun emplacements and confirmed they were in direct line of vision for the lasers. But that was the problem: the ground on his side of the valley didn’t allow for a base and a good OP. So the base was in a small indentation along a contour, from which he couldn’t see the opposition but where the opposition couldn’t see him, and the OP was fifty metres further forward on a slight lip, the two men in it lying motionless and the two behind covering them. The men in the forward position not able to move, but that was standard, except the ground behind the opposition emplacements was marginally higher than the OP, so the opposition was looking down on it and therefore able to see it. But only if they were looking, and they wouldn’t be, because there was no reason to. The only time the opposition would know would be after the air strike, then the guns would be dealt with anyway. So there were no problems.

He contacted base, sent his report, then opened a can of cold beans and began to eat. Hard routine patrol, Fielding had said. Bloody right, Janner thought. Only six hours of light left, though, then he and Max could creep back and join Geordie John and Kev.

Poor bastards, he thought as another round struck the town in the valley below. The barrage was virtually nonstop now. Rather be here than there.

The call to MacFarlane was on the secure net.

‘Update?’ Thorne asked him.

‘Ceasefire violations continuing at a rate of one round every two to three minutes, all incoming.’ MacFarlane was also deliberately official.

‘State of UNMO team?’ Thorne asked.

‘UNMO team in serious danger. Four shells have landed near UNMO position in past hour.’ Four among the many that were still falling. ‘There is a possibility that UNMO team is being targeted. If no response has been received from yesterday’s approach to Bosnian Serbs, I formally request an air strike to protect lives of United Nations Military Observers.’

‘Request being lodged immediately.’

So in two and a half hours, the time it took to process the request, the jets could be airborne from their bases in Italy. Thirty minutes’ flying time, forty maximum; so by one-thirty, two at the latest, the jets could be over Maglaj and silencing the guns.

‘Thank you.’

‘Confirm you are visual with targets,’ Thorne requested Finn and Janner via Hereford.

Confirmed, they both told him.

‘Request for air strike being lodged now. Aircraft on RS 10’ – a readiness state of ten minutes, which meant that the aircraft could be airborne within ten minutes of being scrambled. ‘Aircraft call sign Thunder One.’

Assuming the UN sanction the action.

Jovan was slightly hotter. Kara wiped his forehead and talked to him about what they would do when the summer came and how he and she and his father would walk in the hills and pick the berries and the apples.

The shells and the mortars were still coming in. ‘Roof of UNMO building has just received a direct hit,’ MacFarlane reported on the secure net.

‘Serbian authorities have been informed of request for air strike,’ he was informed. ‘UN procedures in operation. Thunder One on cockpit readiness.’ The pilot in the cockpit and the engines running.

Perhaps he had become accustomed to the sound of the shelling, Janner thought, perhaps it was the temperature. The air cut through his lungs and the cold crept into his body. Two hours to go, he told himself, two hours before the Jaguar zipped over the valley and bombed the shit out of the bastards shelling the town. Two hours before he and Max could crawl out of the OP and join the others in the base position. Not that the base was any warmer than the OP, not that they would risk heating any food there.

It was all a game, of course. The Serbs were calling the UN bluff by not responding to the request to stop the shelling, and in just under two hours now the UN would call the Serbian bluff by taking out the guns in the hills.

The sky was a thin blue and the temperature was plummeting. God how he wanted something hot, Finn thought. Ninety minutes to go before the air strike. The Boss would have talked to both the UN and NATO by now, and the wheels would be rumbling, the pilots already briefed.

Jovan was going to vomit. Kara knew by the way he was holding his stomach and clenching his jaw. She held him in her lap, the bowl in her hand. Probably the food, she told herself, probably because she had put too much potato and carrot in, and he wasn’t used to it. The jet of liquid shot from his mouth. ‘It’s all right, my little one.’ She wiped the saliva from his lips. ‘Now you’ll feel better.’

The air strike was sixty minutes away, assuming the UN procedure took two and a half hours. ‘Another round near UNMO HQ,’ MacFarlane reported. ‘Constant incoming, no cessation.’

‘AWACS in position.’ The Airborne Warning and Control System aircraft sitting high above them. ‘Thunder One on sling shot.’ The Jaguar waiting at the end of the runway.

The sky and the air had the awesome clarity of winter. ‘Forty-five minutes,’ Janner whispered, half to himself and half to Max. ‘Wonder whether Belgrade’s told the bastards on the guns.’

Jovan’s temperature was rising, the sweat was breaking on his forehead and his breathing was slightly shallow. ‘Where’s it hurting?’ Kara asked him. She undid his coat and gently felt his stomach, then his abdomen, to the right and lower. ‘There, Mummy.’ He jerked away in pain.

Thirty minutes to go – Janner counted down.

‘Mission approved,’ he and Finn were informed on the secure net. ‘Confirm laser coding.’ To ensure that the pilot received the correct target positioning.

‘Charlie Two Two. Laser coding confirmed. Over.’ Janner on burst, the transmission lasting a millisecond.

‘Charlie Two One. Confirmed. Over.’ Finn.

The guns pounded again

‘Thunder One airborne,’ the FAC and UNMO teams were informed.

‘Confirm you are still in danger,’ MacFarlane was requested.

‘Confirmed.’

So what was she going to do? Kara held Jovan close and rocked him gently. Try to get him to the medical centre in Maglaj new town, which would mean running the risk of the snipers in the daylight and the guns even in the dark? Or stay here and pray the fever didn’t develop and the pain went away?

The guns were still pounding.

‘Thunder One over Adriatic,’ the FAC and UNMO teams were informed. ‘Thunder One crossing coast. Thunder One over Bosnian air space.’

‘Magic Five Five.’ The Jaguar pilot to the communications AWACS. ‘This is Thunder One entering the area.’

‘Roger, Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five. You are cleared to contact Charlie Two One and Charlie Two Two.’

‘Charlie Two One. This is Thunder One. Radio check.’

Thank God, Finn and Janner thought.

‘Roger, Thunder One. This is Charlie Two One. Loud and clear.’

‘Charlie Two Two. This is Thunder One. Radio check.’

‘Roger, Thunder One. This is Charlie Two Two. Loud and clear. Check position.’

‘This is Thunder One. Now thirty miles south of Maglaj.’ The Jaguar travelling at a mile every six seconds and losing altitude for the run-in.

‘Roger, confirm target position,’ Janner requested.

The first target – Janner’s target – was camouflaged in a yard at the side of two houses, both empty except for the gun crews.

‘Target as briefed.’

‘Okay, Thunder One.’ Janner switched on the laser marker. ‘Lima on.’

The pilot saw the cross in the HUD, the head-up display, the L to the right indicating the laser was operating. He checked the code and selected the rocket on the weapons panel.

Four miles and twenty-four seconds out. Cross and L in HUD – he checked automatically. Everything okay.

Can’t see target but I can see buildings, he thought.

The ground was a hundred feet below and he was following the course of the valley.

Three miles and eighteen seconds out.

I can see two buildings where the target should be, he thought.

Two miles and twelve seconds.

I can’t see any guns. I can only see two houses.

One mile and six seconds.

Kara heard the thunder. What is it, Jovan asked. I don’t know, she told him.

‘Aborting run. No target in sight. I can only see two houses.’ He was already a mile past the target.

‘Yeah,’ he heard the man on the ground. ‘The guns are camouflaged in a yard to your left of the houses.’ And you should have known that, because it was on my report. Except somewhere along the line somebody forgot to tell you.

‘Okay, Charlie Two Two. Coming round again. With you in forty seconds.’

‘Okay, Thunder One. Lima on.’

In the winter light, the sun glinted on the laser sight.

‘Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five.’ The command and control AWACS. ‘Are you task complete?’

The Jaguar was five miles and thirty seconds from the target.

‘Negative, Magic Five Five. This is Thunder One. Will be in thirty seconds.’

‘Thunder. This is Magic. Abort. Abort.’

The Jaguar was four miles and twenty-four seconds out.

Christ, the pilot thought. ‘Magic, confirm mission abort and reason.’ Because someone – somehow – might be playing silly buggers.

Three miles and eighteen seconds.

At the head of the valley the sun glinted again on the laser sights.

‘Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five. You are to abort. I time authenticate Whisky Juliet.’

Each operation was coded for such a situation, the code changed every two minutes. The pilot checked the authentication code. ‘Confirm reason for abort,’ he asked.

Two miles and twelve seconds out.

‘Thunder One. This is Magic Controller. Just fucking abort.’ Meaning how the hell do I know?

One mile and six seconds.

In the house Kara heard the thunder again. Listen, she told Jovan. The planes are coming to stop the guns. The planes are coming to save us.

‘Charlie Two One and Two. This is Thunder One.’ The Jaguar was past the target and climbing hard above the hills to the north.

What the hell is this? Janner wondered.

What the hell’s going on? Finn almost swore.

‘Bad news. Just been told to abort the mission.’

‘Why?’

‘Sorry. Have to exit area. Good luck.’

Because the negotiators in Vienna have said they were on the verge of a breakthrough, so do nothing to rock the boat, Janner thought. He waited for the next salvo from the hills. One minute, two, three.

The guns have stopped, Kara thought. We’re going to live, going to survive. Adin’s coming home and little Jovan will be okay. Nine minutes since the last rounds, ten. Suddenly fifteen, twenty. The planes have done it, Kara whispered to Jovan: the United Nations have saved us. The blue of the sky had turned to purple and the purple was deepening into black, the first stars above them. Told you we could handle it, Janner knew the negotiators in Vienna would be telling each other, told you we could call their bluff. Kara held Jovan in her arms. Almost laughing, almost crying, not sure which but not caring.

The twilight was gone and the night was cold and hard, the silence hanging over the valley and the stars in the sky above it. They had already eaten today, Kara told her son, but tonight they would eat again, tonight they would celebrate. Then the fire in his forehead would cool and the pain in his stomach would go away.

The moon was coming up, pale and ghostly.

‘In light of Serbian ceasefire at Maglaj, UN has ordered no further air action, therefore withdraw immediately,’ Finn and Janner were told. ‘UN have also decreed chopper pick-ups in Maglaj – Tesanj pocket might be deemed provocative, therefore patrol back through lines.’

‘Get something inside us before we go,’ Finn told his team. They took out the ration packs and opened the tins. Shone the torches on the map and plotted the route out.

‘Time to go.’ Janner’s team confirmed the exfiltration and began to leave, Janner leading and the team strung at five-yard intervals behind him.

Jovan’s temperature was suddenly soaring. The sweat was running from him and she could barely hear his breathing. ‘Is it hurting again?’ Kara asked him. ‘Where’s it hurting?’ She undid his coat and felt his stomach, then his abdomen, to the right and lower. ‘There, Mummy.’ He was crying now, clinging to her, the fever burning. At least the shelling was over, at least she could get him to the doctor in Maglaj new town. At least at night the sniper wouldn’t be waiting for her to cross the bridge. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she told him. Please come home soon, she prayed to her husband, please be all right. She lifted the boy carefully and dressed him in his warmest clothes and coat. The night was dark now, but there was no time to wait till morning. She pulled on her own coat and scarf. What about Adin, what about if her husband came home that night? She hugged the boy again then sat at the table and began to write a note.

The thunder came from nowhere, the whine of the mortar and the express train of the shell. Oh no, she almost screamed. Not the shelling again. Not on the town. Not when she had to get Jovan to hospital.

Mortar, incoming – Janner heard the whine. ‘Down,’ he was shouting, already hitting the ground himself.

The mortar landed fifty metres away. Another shell was coming in, striking the ground a hundred metres down the slope. The bastards weren’t going for the town, they were going for him. He and the others were up and moving, fast but orderly, running for the slight dip where they had established the base, the dip that might give them some protection. More crumps, suddenly more whines. The dip was fifty metres away, they were slipping on the ice, crashing into the branches of the trees. The mortars were landing again, closer this time. He heard the whine then saw the flash in front.

Oh Christ, he was aware he was thinking coldly and calmly, oh no. Not Kev, not Geordie John. The bodies were catapulting in the air, the earth and ice showering over him and the shrapnel hitting him. Oh Christ not me. The pain was somewhere on his face, somewhere in his chest, somewhere round his legs. Another mortar round was coming in. Head down and pray, he told himself, then check the others and get to the bunker. If he could find the others, if he could move.

The round hit the ground twenty metres from him and he felt the shock, waited two seconds then looked up. Max was on the ground five metres in front of him, moving slightly and moaning. At least he assumed it was Max, because Kev and Geordie John had been in front when the first round took them out. He half stood, made sure his legs weren’t giving way, and shuffled forward. ‘Legs have gone,’ Max told him. ‘Bit fucked up. Can’t move.’ Another round was coming in. Janner ignored it, unstrapped Max’s bergen and grabbed his shoulder, tried to lift him, pull him. Tried to move him whichever way he could. It’ll hurt like hell, old friend, he didn’t need to say, but no option. Move if you can, he didn’t need to tell Max, give me all the help you can.

The pain in his chest was gone, his body was suddenly numb, but his legs were holding. He was pulling, hauling. The dip in the ground ten metres from him, five metres, another round coming in and Max trying to walk, trying to get to his own shattered knees and help them both. Janner passed something, cold and bloody, realized it was Kev. Another round was coming in. This is the one, this time they’ve got us. He jerked Max forward and they slid into the dip.

‘Maglaj ceasefire broken,’ MacFarlane reported on both nets.

‘Friendly forces under enemy fire,’ Finn informed Hereford. ‘Repeat. Friendly forces under enemy fire.’ The other men in the patrol were checking the locations of the offending mortar and artillery piece. ‘Serbs deliberately targeting Charlie Two Two.’

It was too late to call an air strike, the bloody decision-makers at the UN would be too busy wining and dining to make any decisions. Only one thing to do and one way to do it. Only one way of stopping the guns shelling the men on the other side of the valley.

‘You have the positions?’ he asked the others.

‘Not moved since we targeted them earlier.’

‘Charlie One to Charlie Two.’ He used the motorola. ‘Charlie One to Charlie Two. Over.’

‘Charlie Two receiving.’ Janner was on the floor of the dip, Max half across him and blood everywhere.

‘Charlie One. What are you like?’

‘Two missing, presumed dead. Rest of patrol in minimal cover. One injured, I’m also wounded.’

‘You can walk?’

‘I can try.’

‘Give me twenty minutes.’ Which was a bloody eternity. ‘When they stop shelling, get as far out as you can. Romeo Victor is a group of houses over the ridge.’ He gave Janner the co-ordinates.

Romeo Victor – RV – rendezvous point.

‘Got that,’ Janner told him.

‘Oboe Oboe,’ Finn told Hereford. ‘Bringing out own wounded.’ No code ranked above OO. When an SAS patrol signalled Oboe Oboe everything but everything stopped. ‘Repeat. Oboe Oboe. Bringing out own wounded. Hot extraction. Landing site not secure.’ He gave them the details. ‘Will confirm co-ordinates. Radio silence from this point. Repeat. Radio silence.’ Because where we’re going and what we’re going to do, we don’t want anyone knowing. Because if they do then we’re dead as well.

Time to forget the UN. Time to ignore the rules. Time to cut throats.

‘Okay, let’s do it.’

The shells and mortars were falling on the town again. Falling on somewhere else as well, somewhere in the hills, which she couldn’t understand. But falling on the town again. Kara heard the thuds and felt the vibrations. Please God no, she prayed. Please God tell me what to do. Unless I get Jovan to the doctor’s he’s going to die, but if I try he’ll be killed anyway.

‘Finn and the boys are on the way,’ Janner told Max. ‘Be out of here soon.’ He waited till the next round exploded then looked out of the hollow, shouted for Kev and Geordie John. Kept shouting for thirty seconds then ducked inside again as another round exploded.

Kev’s body – assuming it was Kev – was ten metres away. It would be dangerous, but Kev would have done the same for him. Just enough time to get out and check if Kev had a pulse, if Kev was alive. So what would he do if he was? One he might be able to get to the RV, two no. And what about Geordie John? ‘Be back,’ he told Max. He waited till the next round exploded, slid out of the hollow and pulled himself along the ground. Pull Kev back in, which might be difficult, or waste time finding the pulse? Half Kev’s head was missing, Kev hadn’t even known what hit him. Geordie John presumably the same. Janner rolled back and tumbled into the hollow as the next round landed.

The bridge across the river, a kilometre and a half from the town, was thin and rickety, and swinging slightly in the night, the snow ghostly in the PNGs. The river beneath was cold and grey and running fast, but the bridge itself might be wired. Finn knelt and felt carefully around and under the first sections, the others covering him from the shadows. There were no wires. He nodded and ran across, allowing for the swing of the bridge, then slipped into the dark and covered the next man. There was no cold now, just the adrenalin. The last man came over and they turned up the slope.

The sites were a hundred metres apart, the support huts fifty metres back from them. Himself and Steve to take the first, Finn indicated, Ken and Jim to deal with the second. Knife job, no noise. Because if the guns simply stopped firing the soldiers in the back-up hut might think the gunners on duty had received a change of order, whereas if there was small-arms fire they might investigate. The guns were still pounding. One minute – they set their watches on count down.

Twenty minutes, Finn had said, therefore five minutes to go. The bastards had his range now and were pounding the shells in. ‘You ready?’ Janner asked Max. He’d discarded almost everything, destroyed the radios. Four minutes to go. ‘It’s going to hurt like buggery,’ he told Max, ‘but it’s the only way.’ It’s going to hurt me as well, because I don’t know where my head is going and the pain is in my legs again and my chest feels like it doesn’t exist.

He ducked as the next round came in.

‘Ready, Max?’

Christ, Max was a mess, his legs hanging disjointed and his face and body mangled as hell.

‘Ready, Janner.’

He half-lifted Max so that his body was across his shoulders and Max could still carry his Heckler, still use it if he needed, and began counting since the last round. A minute between rounds now, never more than a minute and twenty seconds. In the distance the other guns and mortars pounded the town. Thirty seconds since the last round. Forty-five. Minute gone. He waited for the next incoming round. Finn would have done it. Finn and the boys wouldn’t let him down. One minute twenty, one thirty.