but he had given me enough time. His body turned desperately and fear pumped his legs. An inch of the trigger was all it needed. My aim was clinical. The bullets thumped into his ribcage and through his breastplate and he went down.
The other two men held their positions and yelled Arabic words that were not in my vocabulary. Their voices were loud and anxious. I backtracked and stood up with my body pressed tight against the wall.
‘Banksy, have you got a shot?’ Cakes said. ‘Can you see them?’ I turned and saw Cakes crouching behind a van higher up the street. The head and torso of one man followed by another appeared from behind a low wall, fired briefly and then disappeared. They were like the cuckoos in a Swiss clock. Their haste ruined any shooting capability they may have had. Desperate to avoid taking a bullet, their own bullets were firing high and hitting the buildings. By moving, Cakes had lured them out and was now inviting Banksy to shoot them.
‘It’s a tight angle,’ Banksy said. ‘I can’t get a clear shot.’
‘Hold on,’ Cakes said. ‘Keep your sights on them. I’ll draw them out. Mick, watch my back.’
Mick rapidly scanned the street and the doorways. ‘Okay, but make it quick,’ he said.
Cakes stepped out from behind the van and stood in plain view. He held his LMG at his waist. One of the men jumped out and fired. His bullets went high. He hesitated, surprised by what he saw. He disappeared and then the other man appeared. He watched Cakes for a second and then taking more considered aim walked a few paces onto the pathway.
Even though I knew it was coming, the impact was dramatic. It was if a punch from a giant, invisible fist had struck the man in the chest.
Then Cakes did something unexpected. He sprinted diagonally across the road with the LMG pulled in tight and ready. His running feet pounded on the hard surface. “John Wayne” actions were not generally something Cakes did. He was angry that someone had set us up. Making Cakes angry was never a good idea. The other man lifted his head above the wall. It was the last thing he did. The LMG barked so fast that I doubt the man even had time to focus. Without checking his run, Cakes leapt over the wall and then dropped out of sight.
Watching Cakes had left the two men near to me unattended. Once again, they were on the move. Running together, and firing at the same time. They were trying to hit me, but only succeeding in peppering the wall. Neither of them noticed the catlike movement of Mick over the boot of the Mercedes into a shooting position. The angle allowed for a single burst of fire and produced a two-for-one result.
We were working through them rapidly. Of the twenty or so men at the start, they were now down to around thirteen.
It had fallen quiet. For a second, I wondered whether they had decided to withdraw but then I saw two more leave their hiding places and move cautiously up the street towards us.
The continuous firing came from my right where a determined countermove had successfully cornered Cakes between a wall and a doorway. Protected by the wall he returned fire, but his position was unsustainable. We needed to move.
‘It’s time to leave,’ I said. ‘Head for the car.’ Mick darted out from behind the Mercedes and sprinted to the tree trunk nearest the Ford. His FAMAS spat bullets in short volleys that proved enough to stall the advance on Cakes.
It was my turn. ‘Banksy, I’ll cover and then follow,’ I said.
‘Wait,’ Banksy said, ‘I’ve got a shot.’
I heard the distinctive report from the sniper rifle immediately followed by a second.
‘That’s two for two,’ Mick said. ‘Now would be a good time to leave.’
‘Okay, I’m coming down,’ Banksy said. ‘Hayes, are you covering the door?’
‘Yes, I’ve got it,’ I said. It was only then as I checked one more time and turned to look down the street that I saw him. He must have come out from a concealed position.
He
The other two men held their positions and yelled Arabic words that were not in my vocabulary. Their voices were loud and anxious. I backtracked and stood up with my body pressed tight against the wall.
‘Banksy, have you got a shot?’ Cakes said. ‘Can you see them?’ I turned and saw Cakes crouching behind a van higher up the street. The head and torso of one man followed by another appeared from behind a low wall, fired briefly and then disappeared. They were like the cuckoos in a Swiss clock. Their haste ruined any shooting capability they may have had. Desperate to avoid taking a bullet, their own bullets were firing high and hitting the buildings. By moving, Cakes had lured them out and was now inviting Banksy to shoot them.
‘It’s a tight angle,’ Banksy said. ‘I can’t get a clear shot.’
‘Hold on,’ Cakes said. ‘Keep your sights on them. I’ll draw them out. Mick, watch my back.’
Mick rapidly scanned the street and the doorways. ‘Okay, but make it quick,’ he said.
Cakes stepped out from behind the van and stood in plain view. He held his LMG at his waist. One of the men jumped out and fired. His bullets went high. He hesitated, surprised by what he saw. He disappeared and then the other man appeared. He watched Cakes for a second and then taking more considered aim walked a few paces onto the pathway.
Even though I knew it was coming, the impact was dramatic. It was if a punch from a giant, invisible fist had struck the man in the chest.
Then Cakes did something unexpected. He sprinted diagonally across the road with the LMG pulled in tight and ready. His running feet pounded on the hard surface. “John Wayne” actions were not generally something Cakes did. He was angry that someone had set us up. Making Cakes angry was never a good idea. The other man lifted his head above the wall. It was the last thing he did. The LMG barked so fast that I doubt the man even had time to focus. Without checking his run, Cakes leapt over the wall and then dropped out of sight.
Watching Cakes had left the two men near to me unattended. Once again, they were on the move. Running together, and firing at the same time. They were trying to hit me, but only succeeding in peppering the wall. Neither of them noticed the catlike movement of Mick over the boot of the Mercedes into a shooting position. The angle allowed for a single burst of fire and produced a two-for-one result.
We were working through them rapidly. Of the twenty or so men at the start, they were now down to around thirteen.
It had fallen quiet. For a second, I wondered whether they had decided to withdraw but then I saw two more leave their hiding places and move cautiously up the street towards us.
The continuous firing came from my right where a determined countermove had successfully cornered Cakes between a wall and a doorway. Protected by the wall he returned fire, but his position was unsustainable. We needed to move.
‘It’s time to leave,’ I said. ‘Head for the car.’ Mick darted out from behind the Mercedes and sprinted to the tree trunk nearest the Ford. His FAMAS spat bullets in short volleys that proved enough to stall the advance on Cakes.
It was my turn. ‘Banksy, I’ll cover and then follow,’ I said.
‘Wait,’ Banksy said, ‘I’ve got a shot.’
I heard the distinctive report from the sniper rifle immediately followed by a second.
‘That’s two for two,’ Mick said. ‘Now would be a good time to leave.’
‘Okay, I’m coming down,’ Banksy said. ‘Hayes, are you covering the door?’
‘Yes, I’ve got it,’ I said. It was only then as I checked one more time and turned to look down the street that I saw him. He must have come out from a concealed position.
He
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