71
A huge explosion, behind me, in the Palace, a big chunk of masonry tumbles from the gate-tower, inches from my arm. Once again I’m hanging, legs kicking in mid-air, my back’s bruised with banging against the shaking wall.
There’s a silent pause, as if the whole world’s stunned, then all Jahannam breaks loose, sounds of gunfire inside the Palace, men at the windows and on the rooftops across the street firing guns and rockets seemingly at random, bullets are cracking against the Palace walls, shrapnel, fragments of stone, broken glass, I’m shaking in terror as I struggle to find my footrest.
And all this noise is drowned by the roar of one low-flying plane after another howling across the top of the gate-tower, firing off rockets, pounding the palace and the buildings opposite.
They’re followed by a fleet of helicopters, gunships, taking out the gun emplacements, the drones, the smaller helicopters that have been patrolling, and strafing the snipers and emplacements on the rooftops.
After a few minutes, two of these large helicopters land in the market-place, firing into the buildings across the street as they come down. In a few moments, squads of armed troops pour out and crash their ways into those buildings. There’s still some shooting from the windows, but clearly the snipers are doomed.
And now three tanks roar around the corner below the mosque and speed below me, another group appear the far end of the wide street. The leading tank swings round in front of the Palace Gate and, without even slowing down, crashes right through the mighty oak.
The shaking is so violent, I’m sure my bound arms are going to break. As the gate’s smashed open, suddenly the cable holding the right end of my cross-beam breaks, I’m dangling now, held only by the left-hand end of the plank, twisting in mid-air, forty feet from the stone paving, no way can my feet find any support.
My left shoulder’s agonised, surely it’s tugged out of joint, and my whole body’s stinging with the fragments of metal, stone and glass that have wounded me, blood’s trickling over my eyes from a cut on my head, other rips to my skin are oozing, I’m becoming delirious with pain and terror.
Sounds of gunfire, explosions, roaring of aircraft and ground vehicles, goes on and on, but it’s seeming gradually more distant, is it really so, or am I deafened, am I losing consciousness...
Suddenly I hear a voice below me, a man’s voice, a voice of command, one I know well,
‘Get the girls down!’
