Land of Fire (21 page)

"Bloody typical of the Argies," Doug grunted. I agreed with him. If they were going to have a mine barrier, they should have done it the East German way spray the ground with weed killer and rake it over regularly, then there's no vegetation to hide behind and any tracks show up.

The map showed that the mines were clustered in the centre, leaving pathways along the fences where repair parties could work in safety. If we crawled along the edge of the inside fence until we reached a spot from where we could observe the runway, we should be okay.

As I looked, details of the airfield started to become clearer. According to the map it was about two miles long by a mile wide. The fence here ran parallel to the main runway, which was laid out east to west. The military sector where we were lay to the north of the runway and the civilian side to the south. The military installations were grouped in two sections; what looked like the control tower and mess blocks could be made out almost directly opposite where we had come in. A little further on and closer to the edge of the field stood the dark silhouettes of aircraft revetments and hangars. Seb had done a good job of leading us to the target.

On the far side of the inner fence a road ran around the airfield perimeter, presumably the one used by the patrols. We had no means of knowing when the next patrol would be round. Hopefully, though, any check in the current weather conditions would be cursory.

"Doug, take Kiwi with you and do a recce," I told him. "Keep close up to the inner fence to avoid mines. See if you can find a spot where there's a good view of the landing strip and all the main buildings."

My intention, if we weren't all blown up in the process, was to establish the LUP not far from the gate in case we needed to get out in a hurry, then set up an observation point about a hundred metres further in, from where we would monitor activity on the base. Two of us would man the OP around the clock on two-hour shifts, while the others rested up.

"Got it," Doug said. He handed Nobby the GPMG, which he had been carrying to give Kiwi a break, and took Nobby's rifle. There was a narrow path, presumably used by fatigue crews carrying out routine maintenance. The pair of them dropped on to their bellies and crawled off into the darkness.

Nobby, Josh and I crouched down out of the wind to wait in the darkness. I set Josh to watching the gate and the way we had come, in case a vehicle on the road noticed the Toyota tracks before they were covered by snow and decided to follow them down, while Nobby and I scanned the airfield before us. The wind was blowing gusts of snow in from the sea, at times obscuring the control tower completely. At other times we could make out the gleam of headlamps moving between buildings, which may or may not have been patrols.

On the apron in front of the tower half a dozen aircraft were drawn up. As far as I could make out at this distance through the night-vision scope, they were jet trainers and ground attack machines. I had spent some time studying an Argentine aircraft recognition manual, and had a pretty fair idea of what planes to expect. Presumably the bombers were all safely snugged down in their revetments.

"No runway lights," Nobby muttered. It was true. The approach lights looked to be switched off too. Evidently no aircraft movements were anticipated in the near future. The tower still appeared to be manned, though but that would be standard procedure at all times.

There was a scuffling in the grass and Doug reappeared. "I found a good place about 300 metres up," he reported. "There's what looks like an old light array or windsock post located between the fences a fucking great wooden thing set in a concrete base. It looks unused now and all grown over with gorse and crap, but I reckon there can't be any mines there and the five of us could hide up behind the concrete. Beyond that the path goes on the same and you come to a drainage channel running out from the base. I reckon we could use that as a means of entry."

He led the way back along the inside of the fence, the rest of us following in single file. We moved on our bellies at a crawl, trusting our winter whites to camouflage us against the snow-covered undergrowth behind. It was cold going, but better than standing waiting and shivering. The grass under the wire had grown long over the years and, provided we kept low enough, we were effectively crawling along a narrow trench between areas of vegetation.

The spot Doug had chosen was just as he had described a concrete platform set back twenty-five metres from the inner fence, surrounded and overgrown by heather and gorse. As Doug said, it was a safe bet that no mines had been set in the immediate vicinity in case access was needed. Even so it was worth taking precautions.

"I'll go first," I announced to the others, telling them to stay well back. Facing outwards from the fence, I extracted my combat knife, parted the tough stems of gorse and pushed the blade into the ground ahead of me. The earth was hard and tangled with roots, but there was no obstruction that I could feel. I drew the knife out and moved it over to the side a few inches. Modern anti-personnel mines are no bigger than a saucer, but they contain enough explosive to blow your legs off. I slid the knife in again, and this time the tip came up against something strong. From the slight scraping sound it made I was fairly certain it was only a stone, and a couple more prods with the knife a little further over met no resistance so I judged it safe to ease forward on my elbows a few inches.

Again I repeated the process, starting at my right and working across methodically. Minelayers almost always work to a pattern so many mines to cover a given patch of ground. Mines achieve their effect by fear; once a platoon has seen one of their number blown up, they become very reluctant to move until engineers come up with detecting equipment. There's no sense in sowing the damn things too close. The idea is that you don't find out about a minefield until you're in the middle of it.

It was a slow business, but we still had a few hours before dawn and it was better than someone losing a foot through being in too much of a hurry. I got into a routine of feeling ahead and inching forward, ignoring the cold and numbness in my fingers, concentrating only on the sensation at the tip of the knife as it slid under the topsoil. I tried to remember all the training courses I had attended in mine and demolition clearance. Sometimes, I knew, minelayers would plant a few mines out of pattern to deceive the clearance team but this was airfield defence and I figured they wouldn't bother with tricks.

Within a few minutes I was hidden from view under a canopy of gorse. It was hard stuff to work in, but it kept the wind off and provided cover from any observer. As far as I could, I tried to bend the stems aside rather than cut them and run the risk of chucks carrying away in the wind. Swath by swath I edged onward, scanning a track as far as I could reach either side of me. I was three metres short of the concrete plinth when the knife blade slid a fraction deeper than before and I felt the tip skim the edge of a curved shape. Instantly my heart-rate leapt. Carefully I withdrew the blade a fraction and probed to left and right. Each time the point connected with the same smooth surface. It felt exactly like the hard ceramic shell of a modern antipersonnel device. Shit, I thought. Whoever laid this was smart enough to guess an intruder might make for the plinth as being a safe spot and planted a mine to catch him. Bastard.

I lay still a minute, wondering what to do. The obvious course was to back off and try somewhere else to hide up. That wasn't going to be so easy though. This was our best chance. If the minelayers had been as thorough as this there would be precious few other options. In all probability we would find ourselves reduced to using the pathway and trusting our camouflage nets to cover us.

On the other hand I was close up to the plinth now. If this was a mine there was a strong possibility it was the only one. Maybe the layers had one too many in the batch and had stuck it in here without thinking.

"Doug," I called behind me.

"What's up?" he whispered back.

"I think I've found one!"

"Fuck!" There was a moment's pause, then, "What you going to do?" he asked.

"Christ knows. Lift the bastard thing I suppose."

"You want help?"

"No, just tell everyone to keep well back. And hunt around in case there are any others back there I missed."

Most mines require a certain minimum pressure to set them off, generally around five kilograms otherwise they could be detonated by every passing rabbit. So you have a bit of leeway to play with. Not much, but some. Generally, so long as you are careful, it's a fairly straightforward matter to dispose of them. I set to, scraping away the soil and working as gently as if I were a palaeontologist uncovering a piece of a dinosaur. It didn't help that the ground was frozen hard and I had to prise the earth away in lumps. Behind me I could hear the rest of the team prodding away to either side to locate the edges of the minefield.

After ten minutes' cautious digging and scraping I had the top of the thing uncovered. I started excavating away around the edges, trying to get the blade of the knife underneath. There was a danger it was fitted with an anti-handling device, but they take time to rig up and are dangerous to set they're just not practical when you're laying hundreds of the fuckers. In spite of the cold my hands were clammy and beads of sweat were trickling down my face into my eyes.

"How's it going?" Doug called softly.

"Nearly got it," I told him. "Just a little bit longer." I glanced at my watch. It had taken us an hour and a half to get twenty-five metres.

"We can't find anything back here. Looks like yours is the only one."

That wasn't a lot of comfort. If this thing went off it would take my hands and probably my head with it. Everything considered, it would be better all round if it took my head. At least it would be a quick way to go. I scraped some more earth away from around the back of the mine and prepared to lift it.

At that moment there came a warning hiss from Doug behind me. "Lights! Shit, there's a patrol heading this way!"

CHAPTER TWENTY

Every muscle in my body went tense instantly. We were lying out in the open in single file. The wind was driving snow in great gusts and we were clad in winter whites with hoods pulled over our heads, but if a torch beam were played in our direction we'd be picked out for sure.

I didn't dare look round in case my face showed up. "How far off?" I called softly.

"Four hundred metres," Doug whispered back. "Coming alongside the nearest hangar now. Estimate another four or five minutes till they reach us."

Fuck, I told myself angrily. There was only one thing I could think of to do continue. I slid the blade of the knife underneath the base of the mine and levered slowly upwards. After a brief resistance the black ceramic casing freed itself from the surrounding earth and came smoothly out. I picked it up gingerly and laid it as far away to one side as I could reach. Taking up the knife again, I started to probe the short strip of ground remaining between me and the edge of the concrete plinth. I thought it unlikely there would be another mine placed so close to the previous one but it was necessary to make sure.

I kept at it while behind me, Doug relayed a soft-voiced commentary from the others on the patrol's progress. "Heading down towards the gate we came in by ... turning right ... coming in our direction .."

I felt a gentle clink as the tip of the blade touched the concrete foundation of the plinth base, and a wave of relief swept through me. "All clear," I whispered to Doug. "Make sure you keep in my track." I wriggled forward, forcing the remaining stalks of the gorse apart with my bare hands. The ground cover arched over the concrete slab, forming a natural cavern some two feet high. I scrambled on to the plinth. Doug followed, with Josh behind him; Kiwi and Nobby brought up the rear. Carefully, so as not to betray our presence, we pulled the gorse stalks down behind us. With luck, anyone seeing our tracks would reckon it was only a fox or some other wild animal.

"Here they come," muttered Doug.

"Keep still," I growled.

The long beams of the headlights came into sight, probing through the snow. The driver was moving cautiously, probably more on account of the atrocious weather conditions than because they were searching for anyone. It was some kind of military four-wheel-drive with a spotlight mounted on the roof, but the beam was trained ahead on the track rather than swinging to each side. It drew level and ground on past us, the red tail-lights disappearing into the murk.

Heaving sighs of relief, we took stock. The concrete slab was around three metres square with two massive wooden posts rising from it. The surface was cushioned with a thick layer of moss and dead leaves. Gorse and grass had grown up on all sides so thick that it was almost impossible to see out or be seen from inside.

"Jesus, but I hate fucking mines," Nobby said under his breath with feeling as he wiped snow from his eyes. "Give me a clean bullet any day."

"You'll get one if you don't shut up talking." I hate idle chatter on a mission. Andy never used to allow it, and I tried to follow his example. "Three of us can kip down here while the other keeps watch out the front," I went on. "We'll take turns, an hour each. Josh, you stand first watch with me. Take the Spyglass with you."

"Gotcha, boss. "Josh squirmed back along the tunnel, clutching the handheld thermal-imaging observation sight. Mounted on a tripod, it combined with a laser rangefmder and was designed to let mortar teams direct fire accurately day and night in all conditions.

Kiwi and Nobby were clearing space for the bivvy bags and laying out equipment. "Doug, make a sitrep," I told him. "Use the patrol set, not the satcom." The 320 patrol set was a VHP radio that communicated with the guard net at Hereford. Messages could be passed but it could take as much as twelve hours to get a reply back, depending what was going on at the other end. But the unit had a much smaller splash-out than the satcom, and was less likely to be detected. I didn't want to run any more risks than we had to. "Inform Hereford we are in position on the target with no air movement observable as of current time and date. Then you can all three get your heads down. I'll send Josh back in an hour and Nobby can relieve him."