It was now thirteen minutes past midnight. 'Back down into the tunnel,' said Matt. 'We wait in there until Ivan blows the fuse. After the explosion settles, we move forwards, with me in the lead.'
He looked around. The men were all nodding.
They understood.
Matt glanced towards Orlena. She was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, plus heavy combat boots. Her hair was pinned back behind her head, and across her cheekbones she had smeared her cam cream with the delicacy and precision of a fine mascara.
You have to admit it. She looks like a peach in combat gear.
'And you?' said Matt, looking at her directly. 'You're sure you don't want to stay here?'
Orlena shook her head.
'OK,' said Matt tersely. 'But be ready, all right. A firefight scares most people witless. I've known brave men crack up, so if you feel yourself fainting, just fall back and we'll try and come back for you later. You get a bullet in you, just bite your tongue, and try to hang on until one of us is ready to help you. But remember, regiment rules apply here. We'll only come back to help you after the main objective has been secured. If that means you die, that's just bad luck.'
Orlena nodded, the trace of a smile on her lips. 'I understand.'
'OK,' said Matt, looking around at the group once more. 'Let's bloody do it.'
Down into the darkness again. Matt slipped back along the tunnel, the contours of the hard mud increasingly familiar to him. The space was constricted, claustrophobic, and Matt could sense himself becoming uneasy as the walls closed in around him. Up ahead, he could smell the air leaking through the hole sliced into the surface of the compound. The fuse was lying at his side, like a vein threading through the ground. Matt heard the sound of a match being struck, then smelt the sulphur and cord as the fuse started to burn. He pressed his back tight against the wall of the tunnel as the flame sped past him, disappearing up through the ground, and across the surface of the compound.
Doesn't matter if the guards see it, he realised. By then it will be too late.
Just time to say a quick prayer.
Matt steeled himself, taking a deep breath, then relaxed his muscles. When the bombs blew, he knew the shockwave would roll through the compound with the force of a tornado. The fireball that was about to detonate would vaporise anything it touched, sucking all the oxygen out of the air, making it tough to breathe for several minutes.
Get ready. Hell is about to be unleashed.
The explosion burst through the air at sixteen minutes past midnight, splitting Matt's eardrums. The bombs detonated a mere fraction of a second apart, the din of the explosions rising in intensity as each bomb added to the symphony of violent noise. After thirty seconds, the noise of the bombs subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, replaced by the chilled, eerie sound of the firestorm unleashed by gallons of sticky petrol. It was like a deadly breeze, wafting through the air, lapping over and consuming everything it touched.
Will the guards flee as soon as they know they are under attack?
In an instant, the compound turned completely still. Matt opened his mouth, tried to breathe but realised the oxygen had thinned out, and he was taking in mostly carbon monoxide. His lungs contracted as they struggled with the noxious air. A wind had started blowing through the tunnel as the explosion sucked the oxygen out of the compound, the air rustling past Matt's face.
Sixty seconds, he told himself. Let the fire do its damage.
Then we move forwards.
The time ticked by slowly. He could hear the flames, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the sound of a man screaming. Matt had heard men burn to death before, and had learnt to recognise the terrible music of their slow, agonising demise. The lungs and vocal cords kept on working even as the rest of the body was convulsed by the flames, and the screaming grew louder and louder as the heat incinerated all the internal organs. Then, just as it reached a crescendo, it slowly faded, as the lungs and vocal cords burnt; the screams turned into a wheezy, whistling noise, before the victim finally fell silent.
When I go, let it be a bullet, not a fire that takes me.
'OK,' Matt shouted. 'Move out. Move out.'
Matt could feel his heart pounding like a drill against his chest as he pulled himself clear of the tunnel, and emerged blinking into the compound. The firebombs had lit the place up like a shopping mall on Christmas Eve. The light of the flame was brilliant, dazzling, and in that moment Matt could feel the intense heat singeing his skin. He paused for a split second, adjusting his eyes to the glare, then threw himself on to the ground, holding his AN-49 in front of him.
This is the moment of maximum danger. They know they're under attack, and whoever is left alive will be looking for us right now.
He could sense the other five following behind him. With one glance, he checked they were all in position, then moved himself into a crouching position and started to edge forwards. His gun was cocked, and his finger tensed on the trigger. In front of him, the main factory building was engulfed in flames: first the main walls started to shake as the fire progressively weakened it, then the roof started to quiver, as the walls stopped supporting its weight. Within less than a minute of the fireball igniting, it was clear the building would not survive the inferno.
'Is that one done?' hissed Matt, looking towards Ivan.
'Finished,' snapped Ivan. 'It'll collapse in the next half-hour or so.'
Matt looked forwards. The admin building was fifty yards away, set behind the factory. The flames were licking up into the sky, but so far had not touched it. He glanced towards the lookout towers. They looked abandoned. The sentries had either been knocked out by the force of the explosion, or retreated inside.
'Send two men to check the towers,' said Matt, looking towards Malenkov. 'The last thing we need is sniper fire from above.'
Malenkov barked at Josef and Andrei. The two men fanned out, their guns held in front of them, firing rounds of bullets into each sentry tower.
If anyone was left there, they should be dead by now.
Matt watched Josef edge forward, his gun high above his head. He loosened off a couple more rounds of fire, then slung his gun over his back. Standing next to the sentry tower, he gripped the wooden slats that led up towards the turret, climbing slowly.
The explosion rocked through the air, catching Matt off balance. Instinctively, he threw himself back down on the ground. When he looked up again, the watch-tower had been reduced to smouldering embers, blown completely apart by the bomb that Josef must have triggered. Of Josef, there was no trace.
He was dead. Probably hanging in a thousand pieces on the trees in the forest, realised Matt.
Poor bastard.
'Christ, what the fuck was that?' he hissed, looking towards Ivan.
Ivan was crouching next to him on the ground. He looked up, sniffing the air. 'I can't smell anything,' he said. 'So they must have used Semtex. Some kind of soft trigger on the watchtower. A booby trap.'
Andrei was standing next to them now, his face drawn, sweat running down his cheek and his hands shaking. Malenkov hardly appeared to have registered what had happened. He was shouting furiously, dragging Andrei down to the ground. This is going to be tougher than we thought, Matt realised. We should stop worrying about whether we kill the guards or not – this is kill or be killed.
They were waiting, they were prepared – not for us, maybe, but for something.
Only a few moments are left to us, Matt judged. We still have the advantage of surprise. If anyone is left inside there, they are disorientated, confused and frightened. That's the time to strike them.
Matt stood upright, using his arm to motion the rest of the squad forward. They were already one man down, and from now on the plan would have to be changed by the second. This isn't just taking out a factory.
This is a battlefield.
He skirted to the left, avoiding the sparks spitting out of the burning factory, his gun held in front of him. A silence had descended over the compound. He looked towards the building and, from the corner of his eye, sensed he saw something moving in one of the windows.
'Take cover,' he barked.
A shot rang out. Matt could see a clump of earth kick up from the ground as the bullet hit the baked mud, ricocheting back up into the sky. He hurled himself on to the ground, rolling behind one of the walls running close to the compound, and let off a volley of fire. The bullets streamed through the night sky, but Matt could tell the guard was just shooting into thin air. The admin building was about eighty feet long and twenty wide, and was built from concrete breeze blocks, with six windows and only one door.
'Covering fire,' he shouted to Malenkov. 'We need to get up close.'
The volley of fire started up immediately, aimed straight at the centre of the admin building. It was enough to deter whoever was trying to shoot from the windows. Shielding his ears from the deafening roar of the gunfire all around him, Matt ran forwards, covering the twenty yards to the main building at a fast clip, then dropped to the ground next to the building. His breath was short and rapid. Ivan was hard behind him, followed by Malenkov, then Andrei and Nikita. Finally, Orlena ran into position behind them. Matt glanced into her eyes, and part of him was pleased to see the fear there. Sweat was running down the side of her face. But her limbs were solid. There was no sign of nervous shaking, or muscular collapse, the two most common signs of people who were about to crack under the stress of combat. She was frightened, but she was holding herself together.
She's tougher than she looks – and she looks pretty tough.
'Clear the building, clear the building,' shouted Matt.
A yard above where he was crouching was one of the windows. The glass had already shattered, fragments lying splintered on the earth around them. Matt pulled himself upwards, threw the barrel of the AN-49 across the ledge of the broken window and sprayed the interior of the room with bullets. His arms moved methodically from right to left, while his head remained tucked just below the window ledge. They had no plan of the inside of the building, and from now on, they were going in blind, with little idea of what resistance they might expect.
'Can we blow it from here?' asked Matt, looking towards Ivan. 'Save ourselves getting shot to pieces.'
Ivan shook his head. 'Can't get the bombs around it,' he answered. 'They'll pick us off from the windows if we try.'
'OK,' said Matt grimly. 'We take the buggers room by room. With luck there's only six guys left, but it could be eight or nine.'
Regiment rules, he reminded himself.
Maximum speed, maximum aggression. You'll have time in heaven to work out a detailed plan.
The room they were now entering had taken a hundred bullets in two minutes. Even a cockroach would have had trouble surviving in there, Matt decided. He pulled himself upwards, looking above the window ledge. The concrete surface of the wall was pitted with holes from the gunfire, and the empty metal cases were filling the floor like the leaves in the park in autumn. One desk in the corner of the room had been shot to pieces, its wooden legs collapsing.
But no corpses.
Matt vaulted through the window, landing roughly on the concrete. He paused, listening hard for the sound of anyone approaching down the corridor. Fifty yards away, he could hear the roar of the burning factory: there was a crashing that sounded like a wall coming down. But here inside the admin building, it was still quiet. Matt motioned to the others to follow him, and within a minute they had all landed inside the room.
'We'll take the corridors,' said Matt. 'Ivan and I will go right.' He looked towards Malenkov. 'You go left with Andrei. Nikita and Orlena can stay here.'
'We should go back for the wounded man,' said Malenkov.
'Forget him,' snapped Matt. 'He was blown to pieces. There's nothing we can do for him now.' He jammed his fist against the light switch next to the door, but nothing happened. Someone's switched the power off, or the bulbs have all been shot out, it was impossible to tell. He flicked on a pocket torch, and flashed it down the corridor. The walls were made of drab, stained concrete and completely bare, stretching twenty yards to the back of the block, with two more doors leading off it. Matt began to edge quietly forward, his AN-49 gripped tightly in his fists. The first door was ajar an inch. He walked quietly up to it, kicked it wide open, and started to spray the room with bullets. Behind him, Ivan was crouching on his knees, his gun held to his shoulder, letting off another murderous round of fire.
We shoot first and ask questions later. Correct that. We shoot and get the hell out of here. Sod the questions.
Behind him, an explosion rattled through the corridor, the force of the blast throwing Matt off balance. He could feel a sharp pain in his left shoulder where it had struck the ground. The AN-49 had been thrown from his grip. He lifted himself up, aware of the pain in his muscles as he did so, and wiped a thick film of dust from his eyes. 'What the fuck?' he shouted.