Free Battleground by Chris Ryan Page A

liquid. Under the bed there was a small cardboard box containing a few books, an old black and white photograph and a cigarette lighter.
    Ben took the lighter, then turned his attention to the oil lamp. It was a chance . . .
    He hurried over to the lamp. ‘What are you doing?’ Aarya asked, but Ben was concentrating too hard to answer. The lamp was ornate, with a brass bottom and a long glass bulb. Ben fiddled gently with it until he managed to take it apart. To his satisfaction he saw a healthy reservoir of oil in the bottom. Taking care not to spill any, he put it carefully on the ground, then returned to the pile of clothes. He found an old set of robes and tore off a strip of material before going back to the lamp and soaking the cloth with the fuel until it was all absorbed. He put the oil-soaked rag in one pocket and the lighter in another.
    ‘What will you do with that?’ Aarya asked.
    Ben narrowed his eyes and crouched down to the floor, where he scooped up a large handful of dust. That too went in his pocket with the lighter. Only then did he turn to Aarya and answer her question.
    ‘Listen carefully,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an idea . . .’

Chapter Eight
     
    Bel Kelland stood near the landing zone at Camp Bastion, one hand cupped over her eyes to protect them from the billowing cloud of dust kicked up by the two rotary blades of a Chinook. It was unbearably hot – more so because of the body armour and helmet that she had been given to wear; but for a moment she forgot how uncomfortable she was and watched the chopper land.
    She had expected it to arrive five hours ago, but each time the helicopter had set off back towards base, it had been called out on some emergency to a different part of the province. It had only finally appeared in the sky minutes ago, like some huge black insect against the intense blue.
    The Chinook touched down in a swirl of sand and noise. Its tailgate opened like the mouth of a great iron beast; almost immediately several soldiers ran off, carrying with them a stretcher bed. Lying in the bed was a wounded man. Was he dead? Bel wondered. Probably not. He was being moved quickly: she guessed that meant he had a chance.
    All the soldiers being spewed out of the Chinook looked exhausted and dirty, weighed down by their packs and their weapons. As soon as they were all off, Bel heard a voice. ‘OK!’ it shouted above the noise. ‘Let’s load up. Dr Kelland, are you ready?’
    Bel looked over her shoulder. Privates Mears and Aitken – the two young soldiers who had been assigned to accompany her – also carried heavy bergens and standard issue SA80 rifles. They were thin and young, but looked a lot less battle-weary than the new arrivals.
    Bel nodded at them. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ she shouted, before following them up into the belly of the chopper.
    It took another ten minutes for the beast to be fully loaded. Ten minutes for Bel to think how nervous she was. Camp Bastion might have been strange and forbidding, but now that she was about to leave, she realized how safe it really was. As soon as the Chinook rose up into the sky, she would be at the mercy of any enemy insurgents who felt like taking pot shots at them.
    Private Mears seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘We’ll be flying high,’ he shouted at her. ‘Out of range of most of the enemy’s weapons.’
    Bel nodded curtly. At the tailgate she saw a soldier taking his position with what looked like a machine gun. The engines of the Chinook suddenly changed pitch and Bel felt her stomach lurch as it lifted up from the ground, swooped away from Bastion and – very sharply, very quickly – gained height. She found herself gripping the edge of her seat.
    Suddenly, from the rear of the chopper, she saw what looked like a firework explode in the air. ‘Oh my God!’ she shouted. ‘What was that?’ She looked around, unable to understand why nobody else seemed concerned.
    ‘It’s OK, Dr Kelland,’