the IR camera in front of him
as we moved along the line of Bulldogs. I
gripped the back of his Osprey to steady him and
keep him out of the team's way as he
concentrated on the small digital screen.
The ladder crews ran across our path from left
to right, heading for the rear of the building.
Others legged it to the far side of the street. They
needed to get Barney and his snipers up on
vantage-points both sides of the road, soon as.
Guys with Minimis followed to give all-round
defence.
There was an almighty crash as the battering
ram slammed into the steel door for the fifth
time. Its top hinge ripped apart and the door fell
halfway to the ground but held.
Pete's stills camera flashed on multidrive. The
strobe effect made the entry team's movements
look like something out of the Keystone Kops.
Snipers raced up ladders and on to walls.
The entry team formed up on the front door,
half a dozen each side. Terry already had his
weapon in the shoulder, facing in. His zit-covered
face glistened with sweat. His mate
behind held him by his Osprey, as if he was
restraining a hyped-up greyhound.
'Get that fucking door in!' The yell echoed
above the Bulldogs' engines.
The battering ram crashed against the steel
door again and again. Pete did his paparazzo
thing, triggering so many bursts of flashlight it
seemed like there were a dozen cameras, not just
one.
The steel door came off its hinges and crashed
to the ground.
'Get in there! Now! ' Dave somehow managed
to make himself heard above the din of engines,
shouts and screams from what seemed like every
building in the street.
Terry yelled at the top of his voice as he was
released, and disappeared through the open
door. The number two followed. The entry team
with their battering ram were next, and I heard
the first thud as they pounded against the
wooden front door of the house just two metres
inside the wall.
Dom arrived at the breach and stood trying to
get some film of the guys inside. Most of
the strike team hadn't been able to get into the
confined space between the wall and
the door.
'It's blocked inside! It's blocked!'
'Fucking hit it! Hit it!'
Pete got up on the tips of his toes. He stretched
his arm and aimed the camera over the wall, then
hit the multidrive.
Dom strained forward, trying to get into the
tiny courtyard with the team. He really thought
that forcefield of his would make him
bulletproof.
I hauled him back, doing my job. Even Terry
was holding back from the door frame until it
was time to move.
I shouted into Dom's ear, 'Just let them get on
with it, mate.'
There was fire from inside the house. I pulled
Dom further back. He fell. Good. I wanted him
on the ground anyway. I wanted him anywhere
out of the line of fire as Riflemen collapsed
against the wall each side of the door as it
erupted in a cloud of splinters. Another burst
headed the Riflemen's way. The rounds hit the
outer wall. Pete, now on the ground streetside,
was showered with concrete dust.
'Gunner! Gunner!'
A Rifleman ran to the door and fired his
Minimi from the hip. As he moved from the side
of the door to directly in front of it, his body
rocked back and his helmet rattled with the recoil
of a good thirty-round burst.
The echoes bounced round the street, drowning
out all other noise. I hauled Dom up so he
could film. Pete saw us move and jumped up to
get his camera back over the wall.
It's not enough just to be able to carry one of
these machine-guns. You need to have the
attitude to use the fucking thing. This lad had it.
He kicked off a twenty-round burst, standing not
even a metre from the door. Gun oil smoked on
its red-hot barrel.
The wagon commanders chucked rocks at the
last few lights that couldn't be reached any other
way. Cyalume sticks glowed on the roofs and
walls around us to indicate the location of the
snipers. When the shit hit the fan, the GPMG
gunners on the Bulldogs would know to aim at
anything but blue.
The Minimi stopped. The air was thick with
cordite.
as we moved along the line of Bulldogs. I
gripped the back of his Osprey to steady him and
keep him out of the team's way as he
concentrated on the small digital screen.
The ladder crews ran across our path from left
to right, heading for the rear of the building.
Others legged it to the far side of the street. They
needed to get Barney and his snipers up on
vantage-points both sides of the road, soon as.
Guys with Minimis followed to give all-round
defence.
There was an almighty crash as the battering
ram slammed into the steel door for the fifth
time. Its top hinge ripped apart and the door fell
halfway to the ground but held.
Pete's stills camera flashed on multidrive. The
strobe effect made the entry team's movements
look like something out of the Keystone Kops.
Snipers raced up ladders and on to walls.
The entry team formed up on the front door,
half a dozen each side. Terry already had his
weapon in the shoulder, facing in. His zit-covered
face glistened with sweat. His mate
behind held him by his Osprey, as if he was
restraining a hyped-up greyhound.
'Get that fucking door in!' The yell echoed
above the Bulldogs' engines.
The battering ram crashed against the steel
door again and again. Pete did his paparazzo
thing, triggering so many bursts of flashlight it
seemed like there were a dozen cameras, not just
one.
The steel door came off its hinges and crashed
to the ground.
'Get in there! Now! ' Dave somehow managed
to make himself heard above the din of engines,
shouts and screams from what seemed like every
building in the street.
Terry yelled at the top of his voice as he was
released, and disappeared through the open
door. The number two followed. The entry team
with their battering ram were next, and I heard
the first thud as they pounded against the
wooden front door of the house just two metres
inside the wall.
Dom arrived at the breach and stood trying to
get some film of the guys inside. Most of
the strike team hadn't been able to get into the
confined space between the wall and
the door.
'It's blocked inside! It's blocked!'
'Fucking hit it! Hit it!'
Pete got up on the tips of his toes. He stretched
his arm and aimed the camera over the wall, then
hit the multidrive.
Dom strained forward, trying to get into the
tiny courtyard with the team. He really thought
that forcefield of his would make him
bulletproof.
I hauled him back, doing my job. Even Terry
was holding back from the door frame until it
was time to move.
I shouted into Dom's ear, 'Just let them get on
with it, mate.'
There was fire from inside the house. I pulled
Dom further back. He fell. Good. I wanted him
on the ground anyway. I wanted him anywhere
out of the line of fire as Riflemen collapsed
against the wall each side of the door as it
erupted in a cloud of splinters. Another burst
headed the Riflemen's way. The rounds hit the
outer wall. Pete, now on the ground streetside,
was showered with concrete dust.
'Gunner! Gunner!'
A Rifleman ran to the door and fired his
Minimi from the hip. As he moved from the side
of the door to directly in front of it, his body
rocked back and his helmet rattled with the recoil
of a good thirty-round burst.
The echoes bounced round the street, drowning
out all other noise. I hauled Dom up so he
could film. Pete saw us move and jumped up to
get his camera back over the wall.
It's not enough just to be able to carry one of
these machine-guns. You need to have the
attitude to use the fucking thing. This lad had it.
He kicked off a twenty-round burst, standing not
even a metre from the door. Gun oil smoked on
its red-hot barrel.
The wagon commanders chucked rocks at the
last few lights that couldn't be reached any other
way. Cyalume sticks glowed on the roofs and
walls around us to indicate the location of the
snipers. When the shit hit the fan, the GPMG
gunners on the Bulldogs would know to aim at
anything but blue.
The Minimi stopped. The air was thick with
cordite.
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