Kara’s Game. Gordon Stevens

be, he thought.

      Two miles and twelve seconds.

      I can’t see any guns. I can only see two houses.

      One mile and six seconds.

      Kara heard the thunder. What is it, Jovan asked. I don’t know, she told him.

      ‘Aborting run. No target in sight. I can only see two houses.’ He was already a mile past the target.

      ‘Yeah,’ he heard the man on the ground. ‘The guns are camouflaged in a yard to your left of the houses.’ And you should have known that, because it was on my report. Except somewhere along the line somebody forgot to tell you.

      ‘Okay, Charlie Two Two. Coming round again. With you in forty seconds.’

      ‘Okay, Thunder One. Lima on.’

      In the winter light, the sun glinted on the laser sight.

      ‘Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five.’ The command and control AWACS. ‘Are you task complete?’

      The Jaguar was five miles and thirty seconds from the target.

      ‘Negative, Magic Five Five. This is Thunder One. Will be in thirty seconds.’

      ‘Thunder. This is Magic. Abort. Abort.’

      The Jaguar was four miles and twenty-four seconds out.

      Christ, the pilot thought. ‘Magic, confirm mission abort and reason.’ Because someone – somehow – might be playing silly buggers.

      Three miles and eighteen seconds.

      At the head of the valley the sun glinted again on the laser sights.

      ‘Thunder One. This is Magic Five Five. You are to abort. I time authenticate Whisky Juliet.’

      Each operation was coded for such a situation, the code changed every two minutes. The pilot checked the authentication code. ‘Confirm reason for abort,’ he asked.

      Two miles and twelve seconds out.

      ‘Thunder One. This is Magic Controller. Just fucking abort.’ Meaning how the hell do I know?

      One mile and six seconds.

      In the house Kara heard the thunder again. Listen, she told Jovan. The planes are coming to stop the guns. The planes are coming to save us.

      ‘Charlie Two One and Two. This is Thunder One.’ The Jaguar was past the target and climbing hard above the hills to the north.

      What the hell is this? Janner wondered.

      What the hell’s going on? Finn almost swore.

      ‘Bad news. Just been told to abort the mission.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Sorry. Have to exit area. Good luck.’

      Because the negotiators in Vienna have said they were on the verge of a breakthrough, so do nothing to rock the boat, Janner thought. He waited for the next salvo from the hills. One minute, two, three.

      The guns have stopped, Kara thought. We’re going to live, going to survive. Adin’s coming home and little Jovan will be okay. Nine minutes since the last rounds, ten. Suddenly fifteen, twenty. The planes have done it, Kara whispered to Jovan: the United Nations have saved us. The blue of the sky had turned to purple and the purple was deepening into black, the first stars above them. Told you we could handle it, Janner knew the negotiators in Vienna would be telling each other, told you we could call their bluff. Kara held Jovan in her arms. Almost laughing, almost crying, not sure which but not caring.

      The twilight was gone and the night was cold and hard, the silence hanging over the valley and the stars in the sky above it. They had already eaten today, Kara told her son, but tonight they would eat again, tonight they would celebrate. Then the fire in his forehead would cool and the pain in his stomach would go away.

      The moon was coming up, pale and ghostly.

      ‘In light of Serbian ceasefire at Maglaj, UN has ordered no further air action, therefore withdraw immediately,’ Finn and Janner were told. ‘UN have also decreed chopper pick-ups in Maglaj – Tesanj pocket might be deemed provocative, therefore patrol back through lines.’

      ‘Get something inside us before we go,’ Finn told his team. They took out the ration packs and opened the tins. Shone the torches on the map and plotted the route out.

      ‘Time to go.’ Janner’s team confirmed the exfiltration and began to leave, Janner leading and the team strung at five-yard intervals behind him.

      

      Jovan’s temperature was suddenly soaring. The sweat was running from him and she could barely hear his breathing. ‘Is it hurting again?’ Kara asked him. ‘Where’s it hurting?’ She undid his coat and felt his stomach, then his abdomen, to the right and lower. ‘There, Mummy.’ He was crying now, clinging to her, the fever burning. At least the shelling was over, at least she could get him to the doctor in Maglaj new town. At least at night the sniper wouldn’t be waiting for her to cross the bridge. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she told him. Please come home soon, she prayed to her husband, please be all right. She lifted the boy carefully and dressed him in his warmest clothes and coat. The night was dark now, but there was no time to wait till morning. She pulled on her own coat and scarf. What about Adin, what about if her husband came home that night? She hugged the boy again then sat at the table and began to write a note.

      The thunder came from nowhere, the whine of the mortar and the express train of the shell. Oh no, she almost screamed. Not the shelling again. Not on the town. Not when she had to get Jovan to hospital.

      Mortar, incoming – Janner heard the whine. ‘Down,’ he was shouting, already hitting the ground himself.

      The mortar landed fifty metres away. Another shell was coming in, striking the ground a hundred metres down the slope. The bastards weren’t going for the town, they were going for him. He and the others were up and moving, fast but orderly, running for the slight dip where they had established the base, the dip that might give them some protection. More crumps, suddenly more whines. The dip was fifty metres away, they were slipping on the ice, crashing into the branches of the trees. The mortars were landing again, closer this time. He heard the whine then saw the flash in front.

      Oh Christ, he was aware he was thinking coldly and calmly, oh no. Not Kev, not Geordie John. The bodies were catapulting in the air, the earth and ice showering over him and the shrapnel hitting him. Oh Christ not me. The pain was somewhere on his face, somewhere in his chest, somewhere round his legs. Another mortar round was coming in. Head down and pray, he told himself, then check the others and get to the bunker. If he could find the others, if he could move.

      The round hit the ground twenty metres from him and he felt the shock, waited two seconds then looked up. Max was on the ground five metres in front of him, moving slightly and moaning. At least he assumed it was Max, because Kev and Geordie John had been in front when the first round took them out. He half stood, made sure his legs weren’t giving way, and shuffled forward. ‘Legs have gone,’ Max told him. ‘Bit fucked up. Can’t move.’ Another round was coming in. Janner ignored it, unstrapped Max’s bergen and grabbed his shoulder, tried to lift him, pull him. Tried to move him whichever way he could. It’ll hurt like hell, old friend, he didn’t need to say, but no option. Move if you can, he didn’t need to tell Max, give me all the help you can.

      The pain in his chest was gone, his body was suddenly numb, but his legs were holding. He was pulling, hauling. The dip in the ground ten metres from him, five metres, another round coming in and Max trying to walk, trying to get to his own shattered knees and help them both. Janner passed something, cold and bloody, realized it was Kev. Another round was coming in. This is the one, this time they’ve got us. He jerked Max forward and they slid into the dip.

      ‘Maglaj ceasefire broken,’ MacFarlane reported on both nets.

      ‘Friendly forces under enemy fire,’ Finn informed Hereford. ‘Repeat.