Battleground by Chris Ryan Page B

the floor in the back of the truck; there were seats on either side. Ben sat down carefully, unwilling even to let his leg brush against it. Amir sat opposite him, along with another of the dark-eyed, bearded terrorists. A third man took the wheel and waited for the vehicle ahead to move away before following it.
    It wasn’t long before another flare lit up the sky and Ben wasn’t surprised to see that they were heading in the general direction from which it came. ‘We’re moving into the battle zone, aren’t we?’ he quietly asked Amir. His captor made no response; he just continued to stare at him, the milky eye glowing eerily in the dark. So Ben persisted, wanting to keep the conversation going – not so much for tactical reasons, but rather to keep his mind occupied.
    ‘Why two trucks?’ he asked.
    Amir narrowed his eyes, as though he didn’t understand the question.
    ‘You’re travelling at night,’ Ben said, ‘without any lights. You obviously don’t want to be seen. Surely one truck would be safer than two.’
    Amir sneered. ‘No,’ he rasped. ‘One truck is not safer. In fact, one truck is a great deal more dangerous.’ He turned to his colleague and said something in his own language which made them both laugh.
    ‘Why?’ Ben demanded.
    There was a glint in Amir’s eyes now, a kind of wild excitement. He leaned forward as he spoke, slowly and with a snake-like hiss to his voice. ‘There may be landmines on the road ahead,’ he whispered. ‘We drive in the tracks of the vehicle in front. So we know we will not hit one.’
    A cold, prickling sensation went down Ben’s back. Landmines – he’d seen the damage they could do in the Congo. ‘But – but the truck in front. What if that hits a mine?’
    Amir’s eyes widened. ‘In that case—’ He jerked his hands up, palms downwards, and made a low noise in the back of his throat. The sound of an explosion. Then he tapped the suitcase bomb at their feet. ‘That way,’ he sneered, ‘our weapon will be safe.’
    Ben leaned over and looked through the front window of the Land Rover. The other vehicle was a good twenty metres ahead, travelling slowly.
    ‘But the people in there,’ he whispered, ‘don’t they . . . ?’
    ‘They are honoured to take the risk,’ Amir said, his eyes still glinting. ‘They know that if they die, it will be in a good cause.’ The fire in his expression grew stronger. ‘And your friend? She is just a girl, after all . . .’
    Ben didn’t know how to reply to such a statement. He thought of Aarya, exhausted and scared, sitting in the back of that truck. Did she have any idea of the danger she was in? Did she have any idea why she was in front or what might happen?
    Ben hoped not. Sometimes, he decided, it was better not to know.
    It was midnight, Ben estimated, when they hit a main road. By most standards it was a shoddy track, but it was a lot better than the ones he had begun to get used to. They didn’t stay on it long, however. The driver made his way north, back into the desert, carefully staying in the tracks of the vehicle ahead. Every second, one half of Ben’s mind expected to hear the brutal sound of the front truck exploding, while the other half argued: It won’t happen. It can’t happen. Aarya’s going to be OK.
    He wasn’t sure that he was doing a great job of persuading himself.
    There were moments of silence, moments when the distant boom of weapons disappeared and the night sky remained unlit by flares. They never lasted long. Whenever they started up again, they were always louder than the time before, and brighter. Ben knew that meant only one thing: they were getting closer to the hotspots.
    ‘What if the army sees us?’ he asked. ‘Won’t they attack?’
    Amir sneered. ‘They will only attack if they see us carrying weapons. That is their weakness. And they are too scared to patrol when it is dark. That is why we travel at night. Now, you will stop asking me