The Drop

pulling their feet up higher than normal, then placing their boots down on the gravel with a gentleness I’d have thought impossible of such big men. Even so, their footsteps were clearly audible in the silence of the night. Surely they’d be heard before they made it to the other side?
    Then I heard a noise, a loud grating, piercing sound from within the house that made me start. Someone was shouting. They’d been spotted.
    I shot a glance at the house, expecting the door to fly open and armed men to rush out at any second. I made a move for my gun and Palmer placed his hand firmly on mine to prevent me from doing something stupid. I looked back to the farm yard and saw Kinane standing there, poised somewhere between standing firm, ready to fire his gun, and getting ready to leg it. His hand was in the air in warning, keeping his sons from shooting at shadows or panicking into a sprint.
    I still couldn’t place the sound. It was a shout, but was it really one of alarm? I could feel the sweat dripping from my armpits down my torso, cold and wet. I didn’t dare to even blink, in case I missed something that would have cost me my life.
    Then there was another shout and another. It sounded like a quarrel. There was a slight pause which felt like an eternity, and then a final shout that was halfway between mocking and challenging. A second later, voices were raised again but this time in raucous, mirth-filled laughter. The Russkies had been having a laugh, a bit of banter from one man to the other, then someone had cracked a joke and they all fell about. They were winding each other up. I couldn’t fucking believe it. I thought I was going to drop down dead from the tension of it all. Even Palmer raised an eyebrow and exhaled in relief.
    I glanced back at Kinane. He was still rooted to the spot. He looked round at his sons, nodded slowly and lowered his hand. He then walked the rest of the way across the farmyard with his boys following dutifully behind him, still clutching their shotguns. It had to be said they were disciplined; as good as any bunch of trained squaddies. Eventually, and not before time, they reached their position and disappeared from view.
    Palmer nodded at me and I knew what that meant. It was our turn. I was glad Danny was in place to cover us and I was mightily relieved Kinane and his sons had made it, but now there was no dodging it. We had to cross that farm yard too; a big, open expanse of gravel that looked about the size of a football pitch to me now and we had to do it without making a sound. Worse than that, we had to get right up to the farmhouse itself, leaving just the width of a wall between us and men who liked to cut people into pieces for fun.
    I took a deep breath, tried to forget that I wanted to be sick again and stood up. I followed Palmer as he made his way round the hedge. He paused to make sure the front door wasn’t about to be opened at any moment and we stepped out into the farmyard. We walked with excruciating slowness across the gravel drive way, closer to the building than Kinane and his sons, but only because we had no choice. The wind was blowing in the trees above us, I could feel the gravel under my feet and hear the slight scrunch-scrunch as my shoes settled on them with every step. My eyes were glued to the door of that farmhouse, though I knew that wouldn’t do me any good. If it opened, I was a dead man.
    We were nearly there, so close I started to feel a wave of exultation. I could see the end of the building, the far gable wall we would disappear behind. Only another few steps; then it happened.
    I took a step and felt a loosening of the pressure around my waist. Before I could do anything about it, the gun I was carrying there started to slip from my belt. Panicked, I snatched at it, desperate to prevent it from hitting the gravel where it would have made enough noise on impact for everyone in the farmhouse to hear, even if it didn’t go off in the process. How to describe something so terrible, so heart-wrenching, that happens to you in a millisecond? My right palm went instinctively across to snatch at the gun but it didn’t get there in time. Instead it flailed at the metal, caught it a glancing blow and deflected it to the left. Terrified, I grabbed at it desperately with my other hand but only proceeded to do the same thing, half-catching the gun as it fell but unable to prevent it from slipping through my grasp like a wet cricket ball. Palmer