tense up slightly as the binoculars aligned with their location, but the militant didn’t even pause before moving on. Their cover was good.
Activity on the radio. ‘ Charlie Alpha Five, this is Zero. We have a green light. Repeat, we have a green light. ’
‘OK, Snapper,’ Boydie said. ‘Lase the target.’
Danny focused the cross hairs of the LTD on to the closest building, a single-storey breeze-block house against which the second Libyan militant was leaning. Moments later the device was firing an invisible beam directly at the building. When the ordnance came in, it would follow that beam to make a direct hit.
‘Done,’ Danny said.
‘Target lit,’ Boydie confirmed over his headset. ‘Repeat, target lit.’
A pause. A crackle. Then: ‘ Fast air on target at 06.25. Wait out, Charlie Alpha Five. Over. ’
Silence. Danny checked his watch. 05.32 hrs. The two militants lit fresh cigarettes, unaware that they were getting a wake-up call, RAF style, in fifty-three minutes.
They waited. Somewhere above the Mediterranean, Danny knew, an RAF Tornado squadron would be thundering towards the North African coast. The Libyan skies were no stranger to fast air, of course, but the average local probably wouldn’t know a Tornado from a twin-prop. Not that they’d have much chance to check these aircraft out. By the time the boom of their jets hit anybody’s ears, the Tornados themselves would be out of sight. And the militants in the Bedouin village probably wouldn’t hear a thing anyway: by the time the sonic boom hit their location, the Tornados would be gone and their bombs would have hit.
‘Looks like Dumb and Dumber got bored,’ Boydie said. Danny took a look on target. The two militants had disappeared.
‘With half of NATO after them, you’d think they’d at least keep stag.’
‘Don’t get cocky, Snapper,’ Boyd said in his frustratingly patronising way. ‘No telling what we can’t see. They might have covert OPs.’
Before Danny could reply, the radio crackled again. ‘ Fast air, fifteen minutes out. ’
‘Gonna get noisy,’ Boydie warned. Danny felt a flash of irritation. Boyd was a good guy, but he sure had a way about him sometimes. I might be young, Danny thought, but I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears newbie fresh out of jungle training . . . Keep your pie-hole shut, he told himself. Now wasn’t the time to give Boydie a rundown of his character failings. Instead he just grunted in agreement and went back to watching.
And waiting.
‘ Fast air, five minutes from target. ’
Danny sipped water from his CamelBak. His multicam was soaked with sweat. It would be good to get the hell out of this sweltering OP.
‘ Fast air, two minutes from target. ’
Through the scope Danny saw the technical return, this time along the western perimeter of the village. It stopped in almost exactly the same position as earlier, but this time the make-up of its passengers had changed. There were now three militants standing round the .50-cal, while two others sat along the side of the vehicle, the backs of their heads facing the OP. Unlike the others, these two weren’t wearing keffiyehs.
‘ Fast air, one minute from target. ’
‘Something’s wrong,’ Danny said.
‘What’s up?’
Before Danny could answer, the two new arrivals stood up. In an instant he saw that their jackets bore the UN’s blue armband.
‘Call it off,’ he said, his voice terse.
‘Easy, Snapper . . .’
‘There’s two UN personnel in that vehicle. Call off the strike!’
‘ Fast air, thirty seconds from target. ’
‘The peacekeepers are dead,’ Boydie said. He was angry now. ‘The militants were wearing their fucking jackets, remember?’
‘We don’t know for sure all the peacekeepers are dead. They’ve only recovered two out of four bodies. What if two of them are still alive? Call it off! ’
‘ Fast air, fifteen seconds from target. ’
Boydie had lowered his optic and was hunkering down ready
Activity on the radio. ‘ Charlie Alpha Five, this is Zero. We have a green light. Repeat, we have a green light. ’
‘OK, Snapper,’ Boydie said. ‘Lase the target.’
Danny focused the cross hairs of the LTD on to the closest building, a single-storey breeze-block house against which the second Libyan militant was leaning. Moments later the device was firing an invisible beam directly at the building. When the ordnance came in, it would follow that beam to make a direct hit.
‘Done,’ Danny said.
‘Target lit,’ Boydie confirmed over his headset. ‘Repeat, target lit.’
A pause. A crackle. Then: ‘ Fast air on target at 06.25. Wait out, Charlie Alpha Five. Over. ’
Silence. Danny checked his watch. 05.32 hrs. The two militants lit fresh cigarettes, unaware that they were getting a wake-up call, RAF style, in fifty-three minutes.
They waited. Somewhere above the Mediterranean, Danny knew, an RAF Tornado squadron would be thundering towards the North African coast. The Libyan skies were no stranger to fast air, of course, but the average local probably wouldn’t know a Tornado from a twin-prop. Not that they’d have much chance to check these aircraft out. By the time the boom of their jets hit anybody’s ears, the Tornados themselves would be out of sight. And the militants in the Bedouin village probably wouldn’t hear a thing anyway: by the time the sonic boom hit their location, the Tornados would be gone and their bombs would have hit.
‘Looks like Dumb and Dumber got bored,’ Boydie said. Danny took a look on target. The two militants had disappeared.
‘With half of NATO after them, you’d think they’d at least keep stag.’
‘Don’t get cocky, Snapper,’ Boyd said in his frustratingly patronising way. ‘No telling what we can’t see. They might have covert OPs.’
Before Danny could reply, the radio crackled again. ‘ Fast air, fifteen minutes out. ’
‘Gonna get noisy,’ Boydie warned. Danny felt a flash of irritation. Boyd was a good guy, but he sure had a way about him sometimes. I might be young, Danny thought, but I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears newbie fresh out of jungle training . . . Keep your pie-hole shut, he told himself. Now wasn’t the time to give Boydie a rundown of his character failings. Instead he just grunted in agreement and went back to watching.
And waiting.
‘ Fast air, five minutes from target. ’
Danny sipped water from his CamelBak. His multicam was soaked with sweat. It would be good to get the hell out of this sweltering OP.
‘ Fast air, two minutes from target. ’
Through the scope Danny saw the technical return, this time along the western perimeter of the village. It stopped in almost exactly the same position as earlier, but this time the make-up of its passengers had changed. There were now three militants standing round the .50-cal, while two others sat along the side of the vehicle, the backs of their heads facing the OP. Unlike the others, these two weren’t wearing keffiyehs.
‘ Fast air, one minute from target. ’
‘Something’s wrong,’ Danny said.
‘What’s up?’
Before Danny could answer, the two new arrivals stood up. In an instant he saw that their jackets bore the UN’s blue armband.
‘Call it off,’ he said, his voice terse.
‘Easy, Snapper . . .’
‘There’s two UN personnel in that vehicle. Call off the strike!’
‘ Fast air, thirty seconds from target. ’
‘The peacekeepers are dead,’ Boydie said. He was angry now. ‘The militants were wearing their fucking jackets, remember?’
‘We don’t know for sure all the peacekeepers are dead. They’ve only recovered two out of four bodies. What if two of them are still alive? Call it off! ’
‘ Fast air, fifteen seconds from target. ’
Boydie had lowered his optic and was hunkering down ready
Similar Books
