Tenth Man Down by Chris Ryan

angle, like a mortar.
    ‘Green One. Thirty seconds . . .’ My own heart was going faster than usual, even though I’d been through this many times before. ‘Twenty . . . ten . . . five . . . stand by, stand by.’
    I raised a thumb at Whinger. WHOOSH! went the rocket, racing up over the killing ground. The para-flare burst with a soft pop, and suddenly the whole area was bathed in harsh white light. Whinger waited a second, then, as soon as he saw the chute starting to float left-handed, put up another rocket to the right.
    BRRRRRPPPP! A burst of automatic fire ripped out from below us. Tracer rounds skimmed away high over the bush ahead, way above any possible target on the ground.
    ‘CUNT!’ roared a voice which I recognised as Andy’s. ‘Wait for the fucking targets!’
    ‘Ground targets,’ I said quietly over the radio.
    With a faint rattle in the distance, eight figure targets sprang into view. At the same moment Pav switched on the battery-powered ambush lights, flooding the scene with light.
    From in front and below us a high African voice screamed out the order ‘ Rapid fire! ’
    As one, the killer group opened up. After the night silence, the noise seemed phenomenal. I could hear the AK47s firing short bursts of three or four rounds, with the gympis putting in longer bursts among them. Somebody’s rounds were going very low. Dust exploded in front of the targets and boiled up in the lights, obscuring the figures. Tracer showed that many rounds were flying way over the trees.
    I counted to fifteen, then ordered, ‘Ground targets down.’
    The figures vanished, but the firing continued for several seconds. As soon as it ceased, I called, ‘Tree targets up.’
    This time the response was much slower. Whinger and I could see the new targets, which had swung into view round the trunks of trees, but through the dust haze nobody else spotted them. At last the Kamangan commander yelled out, ‘ Engage single targets! ’ and another fusillade began.
    Again we gave them fifteen seconds, then a pause with nothing in sight. Next I got Pav to bring up four of the ground targets for five or six seconds only, and in the middle of that barrage I got Andy to fire the claymores.
    Ba-boom! With blinding flashes the two heavy explosions went off almost simultaneously. Seething dust blotted out the entire killing ground.
    ‘Runner targets,’ I ordered.
    Up they went, single figures way out to right and left. The right-hand cut-off group opened up instantaneously, but the guys on the left were slow. I heard Pavarotti roar, ‘Fucking fire! ’ but they only got five or six rounds off before their target vanished again.
    The claymores had set fire to the bush beyond the killing ground. Red flames began to run along the ground and surge up into clumps of grass. Loud crackling noises reached us. I heard the commander of the killer group shout, ‘Watch and shoot!’
    ‘Ground targets up,’ I ordered.
    Now the figures were just visible through the swirling smoke, showing up as silhouettes against the flames behind them. Again there was rapid fire.
    ‘Down! I called. Then, ‘Runners again.’
    This time Pavarotti’s guys pulled themselves together and blazed away like lunatics. Finally I ordered, ‘All targets down. Search parties out.’
    I heard our guys pass on the instruction, and the Kamangan commanders repeat them. Then suddenly the bush was full of running figures as dark, camouflaged shapes sprinted forward to the river bank. Most of them were shouting and screaming with the release of tension. Pavarotti had doused the ambush lights, and the last of Whinger’s Shamoulis was burning out some distance off to the left, so that the main illumination was a red glow from the fire.
    ‘How was that?’ I said, standing up behind the President.
    ‘Fantastic! Splendid show! Some wild shooting, but who wouldn’t? What are they doing now?’
    ‘Clearing the area. In a real ambush, they’d be making certain