"This it?"
"I think so. Looks like a safehouse, don't it?"
"I don't know. What does a safehouse look like?"
"Well, a house. One that's secure."
"A safehouse looks like a house that's secure." Malcolm Stewart took his eye back from the scope of his M21 Sniper Weapons System and looked over at Nick Watts, who was still looking through his binoculars.
"How the fuck did you not get into Sandhurst?"
Watts shrugged, "one of those things."
"Come on," Stewart said, folding up the bipod on his rifle and slapping Watts on the back, "let's get back to the patrol."
They started slowly descending back down the hill which they had set themselves up on, picking out their comrades who were resting at the bottom. When Lieutenant Buckle saw them, he stood up and beckoned them over.
"Well?" He asked when both Stewart and Watts were at the bottom of the hill.
"Must be the safehouse sir. Only house around for miles. The city of Al-Asad is only a couple of miles away from the house, we can see smoke and high rise buildings. House looks deserted, nobody went in, nobody went out and no movement from inside the walls either sir."
Buckle nodded. "Very good. Thank you Stewart, Watts."
"Sir," both men replied. They had just sat down and opened up their boiled sweets when Buckle turned to address all the men.
"Listen up guys," he began, "the house is empty, no movement in twenty-four hours so we're going to go in. Stay ready, look for IEDs and gunmen hidden round corners. Pack up and let's go."
The patrol set off, keeping twenty to thirty metres between each soldier and moving at a fast pace. Thanks to the daylight, none of the soldiers wore NV goggles which gave them better depth perception.
"Sharp, Buckle." Sharp was thankful now that proper radio discipline had been dropped between the soldiers.
"Go ahead Buckle."
"I want you to take Delta fireteam round the back of the house, find a way in from there. I'll take Charlie. When we get about four hundred metres from the building, break into a sprint. Over."
"Roger that. Out."
The patrol kept walking at a brisk pace while Buckle radioed round and told everyone the situation. Sharp began to stake out four hundred metres. He saw a rock that was about that distance and decided to sprint when they reached it.
Charlie fireteam, led by Buckle, passed the rock and broke into a sprint. A few moments later Delta fireteam did the same. Sharp made his way to the front of the line and led the other four men of Delta fireteam round the high walls of the compound. They rounded the corner and saw only the wall, with no other way into the compound.
"Fuck!" Sharp swore as the rest of his fireteam joined him. "We've no choice. We're going over the wall. Watts, you're the base."
"Sharp." Watts ran to the wall and leant back. He put his hands on one knee, palms up and braced his whole body. Sharp went over first. He stepped back and ran at Watts. He planted his boot on Watts' hands and felt himself being lifted. His own hands grabbed the wall and he hoisted himself over. The moment he was over he dropped down and raised his weapon. Ten metres away from him was a soldier. Not an SAS soldier. Another Russian. The Russian just stared at him. He had no weapon – a G36C was lying about ten metres away. The Russian turned and bolted for the weapon.
"Contact!" Sharp shouted. He looked through the sight and fired three shots. Two ripped through the Russian's chest and the third blasted through his head, sending his brains out through his eyes. He crumpled to the floor, his hand lying on his weapon.
By now the other fireteam members were all over. The part of the compound they had landed in was obviously the garden. It seemed like the only green plot of land for miles around. A fountain shot water about fifteen feet in the air. The main house stood seventy metres away but the garden contained two summerhouses and several areas that had been secluded by trees that needed clearing.
"Start with the summerhouse in the corner. Stack up on the left. GO!"
The fireteam ran to the house and lined up to the left of the doorway, Stewart at the front. Sharp took his place behind him. He placed his left hand on Stewart's shoulder and fished around for an M67 grenade in a pouch with his right. He brought the grenade up and shoved it in Stewart's face. Stewart nodded, Sharp pulled the pin and slung it into the summerhouse. He then pulled Stewart back and waited for the explosion. When it came the shockwave staggered the fireteam slightly and the explosion sent metal fragments out through the doorframe. Sharp lifted his hand from Stewart's shoulder and Stewart barged into the room. He fired his M4 a few times and then shouted, "clear!"
He came out again, this time holding a map.
"Looks good Sarn't," he said, "reckon it's the FROG route."
"Good stuff," Sharp replied, "this'll be useful."
As Stewart stuffed it into a pocket, automatic fire peppered the summerhouse behind them.
"Fuck! Find cover!" Sharp yelled, and then dived behind a low wall. He peered up over and saw a gunman standing on a balcony on the top floor of the main house.
"Contact! Lone gunner dead ahead seventy metres!"
"Copy that!" Stewart raised his M21 and squeezed the trigger slowly. The round flew out of the barrel of the weapon and embedded itself in the wall to the left of the gunman.
"That'll put the fear of God in the bastard," Stewart smiled.
"MacMillan! Get over here!"
Alistair MacMillan, crouched behind a statue ran over to Sharp. He dived behind the low wall and looked up at Sharp.
"Yes mate?"
"Take the rest of the section to the other summerhouse, me and Stewart will try and kill this fucker."
"Consider it done Sharp. Watts, Freeman! On me!"
Nick Watts and Luke Freeman got up and followed behind MacMillan as he ran to the summerhouse.
"Stay down Stewart, your M21 is way too powerful for this Russian arse." Sharp raised his M4 and fired half a dozen rounds at the general balcony area, causing the Russian to dive to the right into cover.
Sharp ducked down behind the wall to reload and heard explosions coming from the direction of the summerhouse.
"Sharp, Buckle, talk to me Sharp."
"Good and bad sir," Sharp had to shout down the radio as Stewart had picked up a dead Russian's G36C and was emptying the magazine at the gunman, "we've cleared one summerhouse and found a map of FROG routes round the city but now two of us are pinned down and-"
Sharp cut off as heard something which he didn't want to hear at all coming from the summerhouse.
"Man down!"
"Casualty!"
Fuck, he thought. The radio spat at him again.
"What's going on Sharp?"
"I think I've taken a casualty sir. Wait out, I'm going to check." He turned to face Stewart, who had now slowed down his rate of fire and was waiting for the Russian to pop up again.
"Cover me mate, I'm heading for the summerhouse. Casualty call."
"Aye son," Stewart gave a quick burst on the rifle, "go!"
Sharp grabbed his weapon which was by his side, got up and sprinted to the summerhouse where he found Watts and Freeman kneeling down next to MacMillan.
"He went in before the grenade had detonated, sarn't," Freeman looked up at Sharp, tears welling in his eyes, "he didn't have a hope in fucking hell."
Sharp knelt down next to MacMillan and took in the damage. All up his body, from his waist to his forehead, was peppered with metal fragments that could only come from a grenade. Blood streamed from the metal shards in his bare skin.
"MacMillan threw the grenade, then waited a second before shoving me out the way and going in himself. He just didn't wait long enough," Freeman continued, his voice cracking, "it should be me in his place."
"No, it shouldn't Freeman," Sharp said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "shit happens, and you should be thankful it isn't you. What would your wife say? Leave him here – it's better for everyone that we don't drag him round the house as we fight. We'll sort him out when it's all clear. Now come on, Stewart's holding the fort for us. I'll meet you out there."
Watts and Freeman nodded and headed out of the summerhouse. Sharp got on the radio to Buckle.
"Buckle, it's Sharp."
"What happened, Sharp?"
"One casualty sir. Lance corporal Alistair MacMillan."
"Mac's kid? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."
"I know sir." Sharp said. "How's the house clearing?"
"All done," Buckle replied, "we're out the back of the house. Meet you and the rest of your fireteam there. Out."
By now Sharp had made it to where the rest of Delta fireteam were. Stewart sat on the low wall, cradling the G36C.
"Clean headshot on balcony bastard," he smiled as he said this but his smile quickly dropped, "And I'm sorry about MacMillan as well."
"Come on," Sharp motioned to the house, "The lieutenant's waiting for us."