The Crocodile Hunter Gerald Seymour (best ereader for pdf TXT) 📖

shit, nor any of the political crap – just did fighting. Doubt you’d know, old boy, about an adrenaline surge, but believe me it’s what gets in your system when you’ve a weapon on automatic and hammering your shoulder. We were in a crack katiba, that’s a battalion, and we had a quality emir. All of us had a reputation as the best. It all went arse-up . . . you following me, old boy? The tide turned and we were bombed and had missiles coming after us. It failed. We quit. Went on the road, looked to get out. I lost my brothers, each last one of them. The best of my brothers was a German girl, and she was the last to buy it. A drone took her. Know what a drone is, old boy? It’s a weapon platform, flown by some bastard thousands of miles away. When it’s hot outside, the bastard has air-conditioning in his make-believe cockpit. When it’s snow, fog or ice, the bastard has central heating . . . There’s an RPG-7 launcher being brought into the UK, and the bombs for it, and a vehicle’s been armoured up for me. In a few hours, I’m going to drive it, with the launcher across my legs, and I’m going into that place where the bastards fly the drones. Am going to take them down . . . So why don’t you just piss off and take your dog with you, and leave me to get on the road?” Could have said that, and doubted the old boy would have known what he was talking about. The irritation grew.

The man said, “Yes, better be on my way. Going to be a lovely day.”

The dog was still at Cammy’s pocket. He checked his watch. Trouble was that Cammy found an odd form of comfort from having the man next to him, felt safer, and he reached down and ruffled the dog’s coat. Would allow a few more minutes to slide – but not many.

Tristram said, “It’s not for me.”

Izzy said, “Am thinking the same, not my life.”

“See it through, and . . .”

“See it through, finish the day.”

“I didn’t think that . . .”

“Nor me. I didn’t think it would be like this.”

“They need a different animal. It’s not what I am.”

Her clothing hugged her body, and she knew she stank, and her trousers were drying slowly and her skin was cold, like she was a fish on a slab, and he looked half out, concentration blown away, and the confidence seemed to have peeled away from him. He thought that they’d write the same letter and . . . The target had turned, looked straight into Jonas Merrick’s face, and he thought the guns in front of them were readied, eyes at the sights, and the barrels still, and the fingers hovering on the triggers’ guards.

She said, “I have no idea what will happen. Am just so fucking frightened.”

Cammy looked at his watch. Did the calculations. How long to walk to the station, how long to buy his ticket, and then how long on the platform. Stretched again, and thought of the back street route he would take to get to Canterbury West.

The dog sat in front of him.

Thought of his brothers. Was on a park bench with an old boy beside him who seemed lonely as hell, except for a dog. Wondered if the old boy had had brothers. Remembered all of them . . . Ulrike who used to say Stay calm. It is never a crisis. Could feel her body against his when they slept in the dirt together. Pieter, who he always went to for advice and who he loved and who would say Never look back. Never chase the past. And Tomas who would grin, try to laugh and then mutter, Better to hang together, not separately. And Dwayne from the Canadian outback with the heavy-lidded miserable eyes who would tell them, Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse. Mikki who would clap his hands when their mood was down, and punch their shoulders and shout at them, Life is short. Live it. And Stanislau from the city of Minsk who liked to say, I want to snatch the sunset and hold it. Loved them all . . . wondered if he could snatch a sunrise and hold it, clasp it in his fist.

From where Cammy sat, he could see the Bell Harry Tower.

Words came to his mind, lodged in his throat. Be thou my guardian and my guide, And hear me when I call: Let not my slippery footsteps slide, And hold me lest I fall. Good words. He soaked up the quiet around him where most of the daffodils were almost spent, and the sun was warm on his back. The world, the flesh and Satan dwell Around the path I tread: Oh save me from the snares of Hell, Thou quickener of the dead . . . He flexed himself to stand.

“What a very decent voice you have,” the old boy said, and smiled into his face.

He pushed himself up, felt the wobble in his legs, stood still and stretched some more. He had not realised he had been singing.

From Dominic, “I’ve a bad angle. You?”

From Babs, “Difficult. Not one I’d choose.”

Both had the target standing and immediately in front of the target was Merrick, who had shared so little with them. He stood, and Jonas obscured the aim they had on the chest of Cameron Jilkes.

“Sorry, but it’s gotten worse.”

“Correct, gotten a whole lot worse.”

“Like we’re out of the game.”

“What a man once said, ‘They also serve who only stand and wait’. Talking about us. But it’s all about to happen and – Sod’s Law – we’ve rotten angles.”

Jonas said, “It’s been really nice to meet you.”

He was not answered.

“I think we’ll have a decent day, good sunshine.”

He won a limp smile . . . It was that moment. Recognised it.

“What’s that over there . . .?”

Jonas screwed up his eyes, squinted into the middle distance, and his upper teeth bit on his lower lip as if he faced something