Alan McQueen - 02 - Second Strike by Mark Abernethy Page A

vest, slid the rifl e’s cocking lever back and followed Ari, who was jogging behind Freddi towards the pier. Temples pounding, Mac wondered fl eetingly how a little message-tweaking for DFAT could have turned into this.
    A helo came into sight over the river, its searchlight scanning the piers along the bank. A shot sounded, the searchlight went dead, and bits of glowing lamp cascaded over the water. There was a sudden whooshing sound, then a missile sailed through the night, gaining speed on the helo. The shooters on both sides seemed to hold their breaths and Mac winced as what he assumed was an SA-7 missile fl ew into the helo. Mac gasped - couldn’t help it - but there was no explosion, only a loud clanking sound and the missile turned and powered into the water at top speed. Its tail had probably hit the undercarriage and simply defl ected.
    A yelled series of messages sounded out of Freddi’s radio as he stopped in front of Mac. The Indonesian nodded and signed off and the helo rose up and away, the pilot clearly wanting to stand off.
    They kept running and, as the BAIS team rounded a corner of a warehouse, the fi ring started up again, this time with more force.
    Some of the Indonesians came running back the other way to get behind the warehouse as chunks fl ew from the concrete wall, a different thumping sound now accompanying the shooting.
    ‘Fifty-cal,’ said Freddi as the concrete dust fl ew like a sandstorm.
    ‘Where did that come from?’
    One of the BAIS guys rabbited something to Freddi. Mac craned his neck around the corner and then saw the problem. Hassan’s crew had a large black powerboat - big enough to be a navy patrol boat
    - with a crew of fi ve or six and a bow-mounted, box-fed machine gun that was hammering out loads in their direction.
    The boat’s engines throbbed as they pulled away from the pier.
    When two of the BAIS operators opened fi re again, the incoming from the .50-cal came back twice as hard and they all leaned back for safety. As soon as the fi re rate died Ari said, ‘Cover, please,’ and ran to a hip-high brick wall appended to another small building about twenty metres away. Mac and Freddi laid down fi re and return fi re came back as the boat left the pier and surged up onto a plane. Ari knelt, marksman style, and emptied his magazine at the departing boat, his head steady and focused. One of the Hassan guys dropped his rifl e and sagged to the rear decks as the boat roared into the night.
    Another SA-7 missile sailed upriver, forcing the Indonesian helo to back off even further. Freddi worked the radio in what Mac assumed was a call for the navy, given that the boat was heading towards the river mouth and the sea.
    Mac tried to breathe deeply, to get on top of the shakes before they set in. He didn’t like gunfi ghts - he’d gone through the Royal Marines Commandos and the SBS selection, but fi rearms were something he used as a threat, a way of controlling people. He didn’t like the way soldiers used them. Didn’t like incoming, didn’t even like paintball.
    Mac made to go to Ari, who was sitting against the wall, but Freddi grabbed him fi rst. ‘Next time we’re looking at the same person, maybe we should swap notes, eh McQueen?’
    ‘Mate, didn’t know about Hassan till twenty minutes ago.
    Honest.’
    Freddi cocked his head to the radio then turned back to Mac.
    ‘Why don’t we stay in a loop for the next stages? Okay, McQueen? No point being at a crossroad.’
    ‘Cross-purposes, and you’re right, Freddi. Sweet as.’
    ‘Your man got one of them, I think,’ said Freddi, before one of his guys asked him something in Bahasa.
    Dismissed, Mac went over to Ari, who was still sitting. ‘How you doing?’ asked Mac.
    The Russian pointed to his Levis, which now had a rectangular hole down the side of the calf and blood pouring over his boot into the dirt. ‘I put on the vest but it is shooting me in the leg, eh McQueen?
    I am getting angry with these sons of