Operation Mongolia (S-Squad Book 8) Read online

  He waved to Hynd to bring the others over and stood where he was while the two soldiers carried Gillings away.

  The sarge and the others began to come towards him.

  - 8 -

  It had been all Donnie could do not to rush out onto the sand to go to the professor’s aid but one look from Sergeant Hynd was enough to freeze him to the spot. He could only watch as gunfire echoed across the desert, then the black private worked on the prone man. Donnie hardly noticed that he was talking to himself, willing Gillings to live.

  “Come on, Prof, come back.”

  He almost let out a cheer when Davies and Wiggins lifted the professor between them and hurried away to the north. Gillings wasn’t quite managing to walk but he was at least trying.

  He’s alive.

  He saw Banks wave them forward.

  “Our turn,” Sergeant Hynd said. “If I say run, you leg it, understand?”

  Donnie gave him a mock salute, then took the camel’s reins from Wilkins’ hands.

  “I’ll lead. Looks as if this old lady still needs some coaxing,” he said.

  The camel was trembling again, its eyes wild, and Donnie thought that if he hadn’t had quite so strong a hold on the reins, it might have bolted already. He stroked the ridge between nostrils and eyes and spoke soothing, nonsense words.

  “What are we now, the fucking camel whisperer?” Hynd asked. “Get a move on, lad, the captain’s out there all on his lonesome.”

  At first, he thought the camel wasn’t going to comply but a ‘Giddyup’ from Wilkins and a hard tug on the reins got it moving, albeit slowly, as if it was testing the ground with every step.

  *

  The two hundred yards across to the captain’s position seemed to take forever but there had been no signs of seething sands and although he looked more than ready for it, Banks hadn’t had to use his weapon in the interim.

  “Take your bloody time, why don’t you?” Banks said to Hynd as they approached and the sergeant laughed.

  “We stopped over for a pie and a pint on the way. I had yours. It was braw.”

  “The professor,” Donnie asked, “is he okay?”

  He was looking over to where Wiggins and Davies were already entering the biggest of the derelict buildings, Gillings hanging between their shoulders.

  “He’s alive,” Banks said and Donnie heard the implied words that weren’t spoken.

  For now.

  Banks led them away from what was now no more than a slight depression in the sand, with pieces of almost meaty-looking flesh scattered in a circle around it. The flesh had started to harden in the sand, looking more like melted candle-wax than anything that had so recently been alive.

  They moved at pace across the sand, all of them watchful for an attack. The camel tugged and fought Donnie every inch of the way but at least it was moving in the right direction. As they approached the derelict building, Wiggins came to the doorway to wave them forward.

  “Come on in,” the corporal shouted. “It’s got mod cons.”

  As if in reply, an area of ground five yards to their left rose up in a mound and a mouth, three feet wide, came up, trailing sand as it tasted the air. Hynd blew the worm away with volley fire.

  The camel decided at that moment that it had definitely had enough and set off at a run, tearing the reins from Donnie’s hands and dumping Wilkins unceremoniously on the ground in its wake. It headed west, keeping to the rocky track and was soon lost in the murk and drizzle despite all of Donnie’s shouted entreaties to try to get it to stop.

  “The professor’s not going to be happy,” he said. “Yon bugger was carrying all of his clothes.”

  “That’s the least of your man’s worries,” Corporal Wiggins said and ushered them all into the gloom inside the shack.

  *

  Their first impressions had been right—the place had obviously been a filling station in a previous incarnation but it looked to have been abandoned at least a decade previously. Wiggins checked the ancient manual till on the long counter.

  “Empty. It’s just not my lucky week.”

  The interior of the shack was in disrepair. A fine layer of sand and dust lay over everything, the roof sagged low, just above head height near the doorway and open to the sky at the northern end and there were only broken shards of glass in any of the windows. Donnie only had eyes for the center of the room, where Davies had the professor lying on a table and was once again performing CPR.

  “He’s stuttering and chugging like a Fiat Uno with a low battery,” the private said when he had to stop to take a breath. “Sarge, can you take over here for a sec? I’ve got to get some adrenaline into him.”

  Hynd continued to pound at Gillings’ chest, while Davies rummaged in his bag and came out with a needle that looked more fit for a veterinarian’s work than a field medic. He exposed the professor’s chest, felt for the sternum, then plunged the needle in like he was stabbing with a knife. Gillings’ whole body jerked as if he’d taken another jolt of electricity, his eyes went wide and he coughed, loud like a bark.

  Davies had to stop the professor from sitting up too quickly. The older man had no color on his cheeks and his eyes seemed like dark pools ringed with gray shadow but at least he was awake and breathing.

  “He’s back,” Davies said.

  But for how long? Donnie thought.

  *

  It started to rain even heavier outside, the pattering drops sounding like a drummer pounding out a beat on the ceiling of the rotting shack.

  “Hunker down, lads,” Banks said. “We’ll keep an eye on Professor Gillings here for a while until Davies tells us he’s safe to move and wait this weather out. It’s chow time anyway. Wiggo, get the stove going.” He turned to Donnie. “Any chance you could fetch yon camel back?”

  Donnie laughed.

  “These things can run at fifteen miles an hour and better when it takes their fancy. The daft bugger’s halfway across the desert by now.”

  He stood at the captain’s side at the rear window, looking north out across the plain. It looked to be almost all sandy ground with few rocky areas apart from a large outcrop right on the horizon, half a dozen mikes away or more. The cloud had lowered again and in the dimmer light, it was possible to see faint swathes of blue dancing electricity washing across the plain.

  “Bugger,” the captain said.

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Donnie replied.

  “Where does the track go that this place sits on?”

  Donnie tried to visualize the terrain as a map in his head.

  “Eastward it runs for about ninety miles to the same town where we got the camels and I used to go for stores; a four- or five-hour drive if we had transport, God knows how long on foot.”

  “And west?”

  “It runs straight across an expanse of desert. I’ve never been that way. I know there’s some old mining operations out in the great empty, which is probably what this place was here to serve but you can see how long it’s been since anybody needed fuel. As far as I know, its hundreds of miles of nothing.”

  “Well, that’s just fucking marvelous,” Banks replied but Donnie knew it was the frustration talking and not any condemnation of him.

  “How much farther north do we have to go?”

  “Still twenty miles and more,” the captain replied. “On foot, with a half-dead man, a private with a gammy leg, and fucking electric worms swarming at our feet.”

  Wiggins laughed from where he was setting up the stove on what had once been the shack’s serving counter.

  “A piece of piss for the squad then,” he said. “And at least you’ve got your clothes on this time, Cap, not like yon night in the Amazon.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Banks said. “I should have bloody left you there…at least then I wouldnae have you reminding me of it every time you get the hump.”

  “Speaking of humps,” Wiggins said, turning to Hynd, “how’s the wife, Sarge?”

&
nbsp; “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days,” Donnie said to the corporal, who laughed again.

  “Aye, so the sarge’s wife keeps telling me.”

  *

  By the time Wiggins shared out cups of some kind of peppery beef stew to them all, Davies had the professor sitting upright, feet dangling off the edge of the table. The man still looked too pale and his eyes were still too wide, as much in shock as his hair, which stood out in tufts framing his skull in a wispy aura.

  “Whisky?” he whispered but Donnie shook his head.

  “The camel’s buggered off with your gear, Prof…including the two bottles.”

  “Whisky? On the camel? You could have fucking told me,” Wiggins said from where he was now brewing up coffee. “I’d have chased it from here to Glesga if I kent it was carrying a bottle.”

  “And I’d have raced you for it,” Gillings said and laughed weakly. “Don’t let this auld body fool you. I’m in my prime.” He felt at his chest, at the spot where a bruise was raised, then looked around at the squad members. “I know I’ve been an auld arse about leaving the finds behind but I think you lads just saved my life. If that whisky wasn’t halfway to China by now, I’d have got a round of drinks in for you.”

  “Save it for when we get home,” Banks said.

  Donnie was still looking out the rear window, where a dancing blue aurora of sparking electricity hung over the desert. Home seemed a long way away.

  *

  Coffee helped to revive the professor further and once he’d got some inside him, he got high spots of color on each cheek but he still had to hold the mug with both hands and even then they shook enough to slop hot liquid over the cup’s rim.

  “How do you feel?” Donnie asked.

  “Like I’ve been skelped up and down Princes Street. Twice,” Gillings replied. He looked up to Banks. “You definitely saved my life though. I was awake for a few seconds after getting zapped. I felt the bloody things squirm against me. I think if I wasn’t wearing clothes, they might have started feeding on me there and then. I saw you blow the beast away so thanks for that and I’m sorry, again, for being a daft auld bugger. At my age, I should know better.”

  Banks nodded.

  “You had the right idea when it came to the trucks though. Maybe we can get one running. Wiggo, Wilkins, go and have a shufti and see if you can get something serviceable to get us out of here. It has to manage twenty miles north across the plain. After that, I don’t care if it falls to bits like a clown car. Meanwhile, professor, get some rest. We’re not going anywhere until Davies tells me you’re fit to travel.”

  The professor handed Donnie the coffee and smiled wryly.

  “Best do as mother says, eh,” he said and lay down on the table.

  Donnie looked to Banks.

  “I’ll go with Wiggins if that’s okay…it’s probably best if I smoke my fags outside anyway.”

  Banks nodded and Donnie joined Wiggins and Wilkins in heading out into the rain.

  “Be careful,” Hynd added. “Stay on the hard stuff and make a noise if you need backup fast.”

  *

  The rain was steady again but at least it was warm. Wilkins seemed to be none the worse for his tumble off the camel, although he still had a pronounced limp.

  “How you doing, wee man?” Wiggins asked. “The doc and I can do this job if you need a rest?”

  “I’m not about to let a fucking cave troll ruin my life, Corp,” the private said and when Wiggins showed no reaction, Donnie realized Wilkins had said it in all seriousness.

  “Cave troll?”

  “Aye,” Wiggins answered. “It fucked up Wilkins’ leg bad on our last mission in Norway. A big nasty fucker, so he was. But it wisnae his fault, really. He was the result of a mad scientist experiment gone wrong and he went berzie, as they do. The squad helped put him and his pals down in the end, so it all worked out okay. Just another day at the office.”

  “Who the hell are you guys?” Donnie asked and it was Wiggins who answered again.

  “Fucking monster magnets, that’s us,” he said. “Need a giant snake? Big fucking howlin’ things in Siberia? Or the bloody Loch Ness monster? How about a spider the size of a bus? And don’t even mention yon fucking flying saucer in Antarctica—yon bastard nearly had away with me but that’s us, so it is… fucking monster magnets.”

  “You’re having me on,” Donnie said.

  “Not a bit of it, lad. Did I look surprised when these buggering electric worms showed up? Did I fuck? That’s because I knew there would be something…there’s always something. It’s a fucking curse is what it is. Wherever we go, the monsters follow.”

  Donnie didn’t get time to process any of Wiggins’ rant, for by that time they were among the rusted heaps of the vehicles to the rear of the shack. It quickly became obvious that most of the vehicles were long past being able to be repaired. Wiggins and Wilkins got the hood up of one that looked to be in slightly better condition than the others and Donnie stood to one side, lighting up a smoke and looking out over the desert.

  Blue swathes of electricity ran across the sands.

  - 9 -

  “How’s the patient, Doc?” Banks said to Davies back in the shack.

  “He’s stable, for now,” Davies replied. “But he needs a real doctor looking at his heart—it’s still fluttering like a caged bird.”

  “Can he walk out of here if needs be?”

  Davies waved his hand in a seesaw motion.

  “Fifty-fifty at best, Cap,” he said. “If we do have to walk, he’ll have to take it slow and easy. By rights, he should be in hospital.”

  “Aye,” Banks replied, “and by rights, I should be on holiday in Ibiza on a sunbed with a bucketful of cocktails. We’ll just have to make do, like always.”

  He turned to Hynd.

  “Can you get the stove and stuff squared away, Sarge? I’d like to be ready to move fast if Wiggo and the others somehow come up with a miracle.”

  Hynd gave him a salute that was somewhat ruined by the cigarette dangling in his lips. Banks was lighting a smoke of his own when Davies called from a room at the rear.

  “You need to see this, Cap,” he said. “I came through looking for somewhere to take a piss…and found this.”

  Banks joined the private in a small room that had indeed once been a washroom, containing little more than a cistern and a sink. The cramped floor space was mostly taken up by one of the worms—what was left of it.

  It looked to have been dead for as long as the station had been abandoned, a desiccated husk, the bright red of the body dulled to deep crimson like dry rust but with the sheen of dry candle wax. The bulk of it was four feet long and about a foot wide, lying almost in a circle like a discarded tire. Banks didn’t want to touch it. He used the end of his rifle barrel to prod what passed for lips. Waxy pieces of dry tissue fell away exposing twin rows of pencil-thin teeth that seemed to shine white in the gloomy room. The touch of the rifle barrel was enough to disturb whatever delicate balance the thing had lain in—it collapsed in on itself, raising a faint puff of red dust that had both Banks and Davies standing back, not wanting to breathe any of it in.

  Once the dust settled, Banks sifted the remains, again using the barrel of his weapon. What was left was a waxy residue that left a smear on the end of the rifle. There appeared to be something more solid in the center of the collapsed mess but when he uncovered it, he wished he hadn’t bothered—it was a skeletal, all too human hand with most but not all the flesh stripped away from the bones.

  *

  “Sarge,” he shouted. “Check on Wiggo and the others. These buggering things got in here at one time; there’s no reason why they can’t again.”

  It was raining harder now, running in runnels off the roof and starting to puddle even on the rockier ground on which the shack sat. Out of the window to the north, the view was grim, the weather having closed in, reducing visibility to twenty yards.

  �
�I think we might be here for a while, Cap,” Hynd said.

  “I hope not,” Banks replied but any hope of Wiggins producing a miracle was dashed minutes later when the three men returned from outside.

  “Nowt there but heaps of junk, Cap,” Wiggins said. “The batteries, the ones that are left, are flat as pancakes. Somebody’s already cannibalized a good many of the engine parts and there’s only two good tires among the lot of them.”

  “It’s shanks’ pony again then,” Hynd said.

  Banks looked again out the remains of the north window and over to where the professor lay snoring softly on the table.

  “We’ll give yer man here a rest for a bit and hope this is just a passing shower,” he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. “Sarge, get that stove back out again and get a brew on. Looks like this is home for the duration.”

  *

  Banks went to stand by the north-facing window. It only had a third of its glass remaining, a jagged triangle to the right-hand side—the remainder was open to the elements. The wind was coming from that direction, blowing rain in his face, but he hardly felt it. His mind was twenty or more miles north, at a rural airstrip that was their destination and one where they’d be expected at nightfall. It didn’t look like they were going to make it and with their comms out of service, he could only hope that the plane would wait for them.

  Otherwise, it’s going to be a bloody long walk home.

  Every fiber of his being was telling him to get moving but the professor was still sleeping—soundly by the looks of things—and every bit of rest would stand him in better stead on the long march yet to come.

  Besides, Banks had these fucking electric worms to worry about. The view outside was restricted by the weather but he saw enough to know that as the rain got heavier, the blue swathes of dancing static got more intense, with fewer patches of clear ground between them. He wouldn’t be surprised if the whole expanse of sand to their north was filled, just beneath the surface, by a multitude of squirming, roiling worms.