Sharp Shot Read Free

Chance’s team was within a hundred and fifty kilometres of the
border. In the Jeep, it would take only a few more hours.
    They heard the plane long before they saw it.
    â€œOne of ours?” Darrow wondered.
    â€œDoubt it,” said Halford. “We need to find some
cover.”
    â€œCamouflage netting?” McCain suggested.
    Chance shook his head. “We have to assume they’re looking for
us. We’ll need better cover than that.” He had the map open on his
knees. “Head slightly to the left, over that rise. There should be
the remains of a village.”
    A small black shape skimmed the horizon over to their right. The
plane turned slowly, heading back towards them.
    â€œHas it seen us?” Darrow wondered.
    â€œNot yet,” Chance shouted above the roar of the Jeep as
Halford accelerated. “Might see the sand we’re kicking up, but we’ll
have to risk that.”
    McCain had his binoculars out. “Iraqi air force markings. It’s
a Foxbat.”
    Chance swore. The MiG25—codenamed Foxbat by NATO
forces—was a powerful aircraft. It was fast enough to outrun an
air-to-air missile, but the good news was that it didn’t carry
ground-attack weapons. It was used for reconnaissance and interception
only. Banking steeply, it disappeared into the distance.
    Ahead of them were the remains of the village. It was more like a
small town—derelict stone-built structures disappearing into the
distance. Most of the roofs had collapsed, some buildings reduced to just
a couple of broken walls.
    â€œYou could get lost in there for a week,” said McCain.
    Halford steered the Jeep rapidly between several low walls, then over
a bank of sand and into the enclosed remains of a house. The Jeep jolted
to a stop, and immediately Darrow and Chance were unrolling the camouflage
netting and dragging it over the vehicle.
    All four of them were out of the building in moments, taking shelter
in the shadow of a section of wall thirty metres away. If the Foxbat
returned, it was more likely to spot the Jeep. If it did, they wanted to
be far away from it.
    â€œCan’t hear anything,” said McCain. “Maybe we’re
OK?”
    â€œGive it half an hour,” Chance decided. “It may
have spotted us and called in support. We don’t want to be caught in the
open if it comes back, especially if he’s got company.”
    â€œTime for the team photo then,” Halford decided. He took
out a disposable camera. The camera had come from a supermarket, but
Halford had removed the cardboard casing that gave away its origins. It
was plain, functional, black plastic.
    â€œRight,” said Halford, “the challenge is to work
out how we take a picture with us all in. There’s no timer.”
    McCain sighed and took the camera. “Why do I always have to be
the practical one? I need a small stone about…this big.” He held
his thumb and forefinger in a small circle.
    There was no shortage of stones about the right size
—just big enough to cover the camera’s shutter button. McCain
balanced the camera on a low section of wall that protruded from a higher
wall. Then he put heavy stones round the camera to hold it in place. He
wedged another on the top, jutting out over the lens, but leaving the
shutter button with the small stone on it exposed.
    â€œRight, assume your positions.”
    â€œIs that it?” Halford asked, laughing. “Now
what?”
    â€œYeah,” said Darrow, “what’s the big deal. Someone
still needs to press the shutter.”
    â€œI think that’s the idea,” said Chance. “Right,
Ferdy?”
    McCain was grinning. “Exactly right. Get ready. The camera’s
lined up with this bit of wall here, so let’s all stand in front of it.
Oh, and we’ll need some pebbles. About this big, I should think.”
He picked up a stone the size of an egg and weighed it in his