spoken David Essex.
‘Yeah. Fine, mate, fine.’
‘Let’s get all this shit off.’
Within minutes our rigs, sniper suits and oxygen kit had been stowed in large bin liners and we were aboard two Toyota Previas, the drivers wearing NVGs, bouncing along the desert floor, heading for a light industrial estate on the outskirts of a town less than a mile from the Golan Heights and the border with Israel. All of us were dressed the same, in green jump suits, with civilian clothes underneath as part of the E&E (escape and evasion) plan, plus belt kit and our own choice of boots. Mine were a pair of Nike hiking boots, which we’d checked were available in any Tel Aviv high street.
Glen and I went way back. We had done Selection together in the early Eighties, and had got to know each other later while chatting up the same woman, who was now his wife. He was the same age as me – late-thirties – had a swarthy Mediterranean look and a few moles on his face which were sprouting hair, and he always needed a shave. Constantly smiling, he was one of life’s good guys – in love with his wife and two kids, in love with his job, probably even in love with his car and the cat. For the last five days they’d been preparing and placing an explosive attack on an electricity substation, which was going to close down the town while we hit the target, and I knew that Glen would have enjoyed every minute of it.
‘We’re at the drop-off point.’
If we had to talk it would be in a low whisper from now on. As we clambered from the vehicles I motioned to Sarah for both of us to stand out of the way. We got underneath one of the small stumpy trees which made up this olive grove, the stars giving us just enough light to move in without bumbling. The thing I’d always loved most about the Middle East was the stars; it felt as if you could see the whole universe, and so clearly.
The Regs were putting their bergens on and sorting themselves out. The glow of the town could be seen coming from the dead ground about five ks beyond the target. The night air was cold after the warmth of the people carrier and I couldn’t wait to get moving.
The driver came over, holding up a small magnetic box. ‘The keys,’ he said. ‘Both vehicles, rear nearside wheel arch.’
I glanced at Sarah as we both nodded. She had a smaller bergen than mine, containing her trauma kit, with fluid, and anything else she would need. Once the patrol kit was packed, what else went in was down to personal choice.
Glen joined us with a jolly ‘You OK?’, as if he felt he had to bolster Sarah’s morale.
She looked at him blankly and said, ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
There was a pause as he let the tone of her reply sink in. He didn’t like it. ‘OK, let’s go.’ He pointed at her. ‘You, behind me. Nick, behind her, OK?’
On the track between the olive groves I could see shadowy figures shaking out into single file. My only job was to protect her; we hadn’t let Glen in on this, but if there was a drama, the two of us were going to fuck off sharpish. We’d just let them get on with it and die. As we joined the snake I wondered about the times I’d done jobs while in the Regiment, not realizing that no-one really cared.
We moved off into the shadows, weapon butt in the shoulder, index finger across the trigger guard, thumb on the safety catch. Sarah was carrying only a Beretta for self-defence. We were there to do everything else for her.
For about forty minutes we moved through wide groves. When we finally stopped I could only hear the crickets and the wind in the trees. Ahead of us now was the target, a row of six or seven low-level, brick-faced light industrial units with flat aluminium roofs and windows. The entire complex was surrounded by a three-metre-high chain link fence, with just one entrance, which was gated off for the night. The road was lit by yellow street lamps every thirty metres, and there were floods on the fronts of
Chris Adrian, Eli Horowitz