Page 125 of Hang on St. Christopher

“Whatcha doing?” I asked.

“I have a mobile phone. It only works in Belfast and Carrick, but maybe there’s a cell tower somewhere,” he said.

“A mobile phone?”

“Yeah. For emergencies and stuff.”

“Give it a try.”

He waved the phone above his head, trying to get a signal on the thing. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but it was unlikely that the nearest village even had grid electricity, never mind a cell tower.

Crabbie passed me a canteen of water. I unscrewed the top and took a drink.

“Not even a hint of a signal,” Lawson said, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“It was worth a go. Incoming!” I yelled as another mortar landed on the road in front of us.

“If they get one in the trench...” Crabbie said.

“I know.”

And now they did produce a flare.

A white-phosphorous flare that lit up the whole night like day.

The machine guns and mortars opened up around us in a fresh, well-directed barrage.

“Everyone, stay down!” I screamed over the whimpering.

An explosion almost directly above us. An explosion with a scattering of green stars. I almost wanted to laugh at the beauty of it.

“I don’t think Clare is going to be able to get help in time,” Crabbie said next to me.

Aye, Clare had probably scarpered and was hiding in a field until morning.

“I think you’re right, mate. But we can’t get up and run. A single pass of the machine gun really would tear us to pieces.”

“We can’t stay here, Sean. The mortar has our position!”

He was correct.

Bugger.

When the flare died, I yelled to the others: “O’Leary, McGuinness, get over here!”

The terrified O’Leary was shaking next to Lawson with his hands over his head. McGuinness hadn’t heard me.

“Lawson, grab those tear-gas canisters from O’Leary and McGuinness. Gimme them!”

Lawson crawled over McGuinness and Mitchell and found the canisters. Three of them. He crawled back and handed them to me.

“Okay, here’s the plan! You lot will crawl north back to the first Land Rover. When you’re down there, I’ll throw these three tear-gas canisters onto the road and start shooting the MP5. They will obviously fire into the smoke, thinking we’re coming out. I’ll keep shooting at them, and when I’ve sufficiently convinced them that we’re in the smoke, you lot get out of the sheugh and run down the road as fast as your legs will carry you.”

“What about you?” Crabbie asked.

“In the confusion, I’ll make my move, crawl down the ditch, and run after you.”

“Run down the road? You’re crazy!” O’Leary said.

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