Juggernaut

I indicated the crowd. 'These people are up early. Do you have much of this kind of thing?'

The people, they are always with us.' I wondered for a moment whether that was an intended parody of a biblical quotation. He pointed. 'These come from a small village about a mile over there. They are nothing.'

One of the military trucks fired up its engine and I watched it pull out. Mounted on the back was a recoilless gun. The range of those things wasn't particularly great but they packed a hell of a wallop and could be fired from a light vehicle. One thing you had to remember was not to stand behind when they fired. 'Nice piece of artillery,' I said. 'I haven't seen one of those since Korea.'

Sadiq smiled noncommittally. I sensed that he was itching for me to be off.

'Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?' I wanted to see how far he'd let me go before he pulled rank on me, or tried to. But outside influences had their say instead.

'Nothing at all, Mister Man…'

His words were drowned as three jets streaked overhead, making us both start. They were flying low, and disappeared to the south. I turned to Sadiq and raised my eyebrows. 'We are quite close to a military airfield,' he said. His attempt at a nonchalant attitude fooled neither of us.

I thanked him and walked away, then turned my head to see him already putting on the earphones again. Maybe he liked hi-fi.

I wanted to relieve myself so I pushed a little way into the bushes by the side of the road. It was quite thick but I came across a sort of channel in the undergrowth and was able to push along quite easily. What bothered me was that it was quite straight. Then I damn near fell down a hole, teetered for a moment on the edge and recovered by catching hold of a branch and running a thorn into my hand. I cursed, then looked at the hole with interest. It had been newly dug and at the bottom there were marks in the soil. The spoil from the hole had been piled up round it and then covered with scrub. If you had to have a hole at all this was one of the more interesting types, one I hadn't seen since I was in the army.

I dropped into it and looked back the way I had come. The channel I had come along was clearly defined right up to the road edge, where it was screened by the lightest of cover, easy to see through from the shady side. Captain Sadiq was clearly on the ball, a real professional. This was a concealed machine gun pit with a prepared field of fire which commanded a half mile length of road. Out of curiosity I drummed up what I had been taught when Uncle Sam tried to make me into a soldier, and figured out where Sadiq would have put his mortars. After a few minutes of plunging about in the scrub I came across the emplacement and stared at it thoughtfully. I didn't know if it was such a good idea because it made out Sadiq to be a textbook soldier, working to the rules. That's all right providing the guys on the other side haven't read the same book.

When I got back to the rig Kemp hailed me with some impatience, shading into curiosity. I was dusty and scratched, and already sweating.

'We're ready to move,' he said. 'Ride along with anyone you like.' Except me, his tone added, and I could hardly blame him. He'd have enough to do without answering questions from visiting firemen.

'Just a minute,' I said. 'Captain Sadiq appears to be cemented to his radio. How long has that been going on?'

Kemp shrugged. 'I don't know – all morning. He does his job and I do mine.'

'Don't you sense that he's uneasy?' I asked with concern. I'd seldom met a man so oblivious to outside events as Kemp. 'By the way, what did you make of those planes?'

'They say there's an airfield somewhere about. Maybe they were just curious about the convoy. Look, Neil, I have to get on. I'll talk to you later.' He waved to Hammond, who drove up in the Land Rover, and they were off in a small cloud of dust. During my absence the rig and most of the rest of the convoy including my car had moved off, so I swung myself on to the chuck wagon and hitched a lift down to where the others were grouped around the approach to the bridge.

The scene was fascinating. Kemp was using only one tractor to take the rig across the bridge and it was already in place. Another tractor had crossed and waited on the far side. The rig was fitted with its airlift skirts and looked rather funny; they seemed to take away the brute masculinity of the thing and gave it the incongruous air of one of those beskirted Greek soldiers you see on guard in Athens. Though no doubt Kemp, who had been outraged by the bunting in Port Luard, saw nothing odd about it. Behind it was the airlift truck to which it was connected by a flexible umbilicus. Through this the air was rammed by four big engines.