Beneath the Ice (30 page)

With him gently leading her across the loose bricks and broken timbers of the house, they reached what remained of the front room. A halo of light poured in from outside. As they drew closer, he felt Bear’s head lift from his chest and her eyes fix on the light as if it were some kind of epiphany. Tears streamed down her face, the prospect of being released from the nightmare almost too much for her to take.

Together they walked the last few steps out into the open and got in the back of the Mamba. Bates could see the other members of the grab team eyeing her suspiciously. They had cable ties, Tasers and syringe pens at the ready, and were obviously confused by Bates’ sudden break from protocol.

‘Leave it,’ he warned, raising a finger towards the nearest of them. He sat Bear down, feeling her whole body tremble. She immediately pulled her feet up to her chest and began gently rocking back and forwards, eyes darting from one thing to the next in the cabin as she tried to piece together everything that was happening.

‘Please,’ she whispered, turning to face him, ‘get me out of here.’

‘Two more minutes,’ Bates replied. ‘Then we’ll be out of this hellhole for good.’

But just as the words left his mouth, gunfire erupted like a roll of thunder across the market square. They both turned towards a gap in the far row of houses to see a mass of screaming people suddenly burst through the wall of smoke.

The battle for Nyanga had begun.

The first wave of the attack ran into a hail of machine-gun fire. The soldiers of Alpha and Delta teams were dug in and ready. They fired at knee-height into the sea of advancing people and soon a mass of men and teenagers lay twisted and writhing on the ground. They clutched splintered bone and shattered kneecaps while behind them their comrades tripped over the tangle of limbs, only adding to the carnage and confusion.

The soldiers reloaded, clipping in new magazines and steadying their grip, but just as they were about to recommence firing men suddenly appeared on either side of their position, leaping down from rooftops or bounding over the low, corrugated fences. Concealed by smoke, they had crept up through the maze of alleyways and now ran out into the open, firing wildly. But what they lacked in accuracy they made up for in numbers. Soon the soldiers found themselves turning from one side to the next, desperately trying to fend off attacks from every direction.

From deep within the crowd a bottle was suddenly hurled through the air; then another, and another. As the glass smashed on the ground it ignited the petrol within, sending a pool of yellow and blue flames licking into the air. The last was a direct hit, landing in the midst of three soldiers taking cover behind an abandoned car. They leapt up, running heedlessly as their clothes went up in sheets of flame. Two of them managed to stumble towards their neighbouring unit and as they dived to the ground, their comrades frantically tried to pat out the flames, even burning the palms of their own hands in the process.

But for the third man it was too late. He staggered out into the centre of no-man’s-land, visible to both sides through the haze of drifting smoke. There was a strange hiatus, the shouting suddenly fading to near-silence as hundreds of people took in the terrifying spectacle. The flames rose higher, consuming hair, skin and flesh as he stood, swaying slightly, as if caught in a current. Finally, almost to their relief, he dropped to his knees and fell face-first into the dust.

The sense of horror turned to one of victory and the crowd roared in triumph, screaming with wide eyes and even wider mouths. As the soldiers smelt the stench of burning flesh mingled with the smoke from the mob’s tyres, they realised the dead man’s fate could easily be theirs.

They fired again, but no longer in the controlled bursts of trained professionals. This firing was panicked and random. The first few rounds would hit their targets, but then the soldiers would keep their fingers locked down on full automatic, spraying wildly into the sky. Magazines ran dry in just a few seconds, leaving them to stumble through the process of re-loading, every movement dogged by fear. Above the din of the crowd, the sergeant’s voice could be heard as he barked orders and tried to instil some discipline in them, but to little avail. Fear gripped them all.

By the time the second wave of the attack struck, Delta team was already running. They sprinted with arms wide, some firing wildly over their shoulders as they made a desperate bid to reach the safety of the vehicles. The rout continued, soldier following soldier without order or sequence. They piled into the waiting vehicles, some clutching wounded colleagues while others did nothing more than throw themselves behind the seating and implore the driver to leave.

As the first of the Mambas lurched forward, its rear door still swinging back on its hinges, Bates watched the crowd surge towards it like a tide. They were almost on top of the vehicle, their victory now beyond doubt.

Bates cursed. He had been caught unawares, expecting the teams to be able to hold off the crowd for at least another five minutes. But if he didn’t act now, there would be a full-scale massacre.

‘For Christ’s sake, get closer!’ he shouted to the sergeant of his own Mamba. ‘They need covering fire.’

The sergeant turned back in his seat, eyes wide.

‘But, sir, shouldn’t we set up a defensive perimeter here and wait?’

‘We do that, there’ll be no one left to wait for. Now move!’

As their own vehicle trundled towards the fray the soldiers within nervously checked their weapons, eyes continuously switching back to the chaos unfolding only a few hundred yards away.

‘I want a quick deployment,’ Bates shouted, struggling to be heard above the clamour. ‘Lay down covering fire. Controlled bursts. We stay until the others get clear.’

None of the men made eye contact, desperate to conceal their own fear. The sickening prospect of being out in the open was almost too much for them to bear. Around the cabin soldiers could be seen trying to remember fragments of their training, while others recited prayers and openly crossed themselves.

Turning back towards Bear, Bates whispered, ‘Stay down,’ just as the first of the escaping Mambas passed in the opposite direction, accelerating hard. He caught a flash image of the confusion and blood inside the rear cabin and felt a familiar sense of dread wash over him. It was the same on every mission. But through experience, he had learnt that the only way to deal with it was by taking action. Pulling his own Glock 17 pistol from his belt, he chambered the first round and tried to slow his own breathing.

The stricken profile of the second Mamba was just ahead. People from the crowd clung to its bonnet and roof, while others smashed stones into the side windows. The rear door had been entirely wrenched off its hinges and, as he watched, one of the soldiers was dragged feet first from within. Bates saw him kick and twist, but arm after arm rose up from the crowd, yanking him clear of the machine. He appeared briefly once more, transported over the heads of the crowd as if floating on a heaving wave, before he suddenly disappeared, lost to a fate that was as frenzied as it was short-lived.

As their own Mamba drew to a halt, Bates screamed at the soldiers to get out. They rose to their feet but hesitated. For a brief moment there was a bottleneck of men and rifles. Ramming his shoulder into the man in front, Bates pushed them forward until they spilled out on to the street. They stood in an unsteady group, staring in bewildered awe at the sheer rage and hostility of the crowd.

‘Form up!’ he ordered, grabbing them by their webbing straps and forcing them into some kind of order. As they moved, more petrol bombs arced over from the crowd but this time fell short, exploding in circular pools of flame just metres ahead of them.

‘Fire!’ Bates screamed, raising his own pistol. After a second, the others followed suit. Soon, there was a steady thud from the R4 rifles. Bullets smacked into the crowd with pitiless force, dropping one figure then the next, as a constant stream of empty shell casings hit the ground around the soldiers’ feet. This sudden semblance of military order caused the crowd to falter. Almost as one they pulled back, leaving the dead and dying to litter the ground like a vision from hell. There were so many of them, lying on top of each other, connected by trails of gut and bone, the ground itself was awash with pools of still-warm blood.

‘Move! Move!’ Bates shouted, shuffling forward. As they advanced, the soldiers of Delta team saw their salvation and jumped down from the carcass of the trapped Mamba. They ran headlong towards their rescuers, hurling themselves and their rifles inside the cabin without looking back. Bates counted them in, noting that only four remained from the original ten-man unit. He could still see the outline of at least two others inside the APC, but they sat with their heads slumped forward, arms resting by their sides, already dead.

His own men climbed on board their Mamba. The engine roared as the driver sent them swinging round in a tight circle away from the crowd. Bates stood by the open rear door, watching with pistol raised. He didn’t attempt to fire, realising there had been enough bloodshed for one day. Instead he watched, eyes switching from face to face in the crowd as the distance between them widened with each passing second. Soon, the Mamba had crossed to the far side of the market place and was powering up towards the open ramp of the motorway.

Just ahead of them a barricade had been hastily erected, but it was little match for the speed and momentum of the Mamba. It crashed through the meagre collection of rubbish bins and old chairs, scattering them like leaves, before swerving on to the open road.

Bates continued to stare as the township melted into the distance. He shook his head, almost unable to believe the sheer level of destruction he had witnessed in such a short time. He had never seen anything so incendiary. If there was one thing he now knew – Nyanga deserved its reputation.

He switched his gaze inside the cabin to the mess of wounded soldiers. They filled every inch of the Mamba, lying across the bench seats and on the floor. Right at the back, he could see Bear ripping open a medical pack she had found and jamming a wad of gauze into the wound in a soldier’s neck. Her hands and wrists were covered in his blood and she was struggling to keep her balance amongst the slew of discarded weaponry and empty shell casings.

Bates watched her for a moment longer, his eyes following every move. He had got her out of Nyanga, but now he was going to have to deal with the Americans.

‘IT’LL NEVER WORK,’
murmured Katz, craning his neck back to stare towards the ceiling of the old Soviet base.

After the bitter realisation that the helicopter’s arrival did not signal a rescue attempt, Joel, Katz and Luca had spent nearly an hour discussing their fate. Eventually, they had arrived at a single solution. Luca was going to have to climb up to the skylights and attempt to smash his way through. But at over thirty feet above their heads, the task seemed virtually impossible.

‘Even if you do make it up there, how are you going to break the glass?’ continued Katz, his forehead furrowing in doubt.

‘Look, if you’ve got any better ideas, then let me know,’ Luca retorted. He moved across to one of the room’s steel girders and gently placed his right hand on the cold metal. His fingers brushed across the line of rivets, assessing the extent of the grip. It was barely wider than his fingernails.

In the old days, the years of climbing had conditioned his hands into vices. He could dangle his entire weight from nothing more than two fingers, while the skin on each finger had been worn down so many times that it had become as tough as leather. But things were different now. He just wasn’t like that any more.

Clenching his hands into fists, he cracked the knuckles of each finger in sequence. The other side effect of so much climbing was that it had triggered the early onset of arthritis. Now his joints ached more than ever. His hands felt brittle and inflexible, while a nervous sweat had already started to dampen his palms. Luca rubbed them against his thighs, drying them off, then slowly shook his head. What was he even thinking? The climb would have been daunting when he was an over-confident adolescent, let alone now.

His eyes gradually followed the line of the main girder as it ran vertical for about twenty feet before angling back towards the skylights. The entire top section was an overhang and, once committed, there would be no place for him to rest. His only option would be to keep going.

Luca’s eyes narrowed as he stared up towards the apex of the room. A fall from that height wouldn’t kill him, it would just break a leg, or, if he landed badly, be enough to snap one of his lower vertebrae. It was the worst kind of distance – not enough to kill him, but just enough to leave him crippled.

‘You can do it, mate,’ Joel said encouragingly, but as Luca turned to face him, he could see the lack of conviction in the other man’s eyes. To Joel, the climb looked simply impossible. When the idea had first been mooted, he had walked over to the sidewall and tried to hang off the girder himself out of sheer curiosity. After only a couple of seconds, he had slipped off and crumpled to the floor.

Impossible or not, they all knew that it was the only option they had left. Everything rested on Luca now.

‘Just so you know, I’m not going to be the one scraping you off the floor if you fall from there,’ said Katz unhelpfully, raising an arm skyward as if in premonition.

‘Christ’s sake, Katz!’ Joel snapped. ‘That’s not what he needs to hear right now.’

Joel turned towards Luca by way of an apology, but realised that he hadn’t even heard. He was entirely focused on what lay before him, his eyes narrowed on the drab grey metal of the girder.

‘Take this,’ Joel offered, handing across a squared metal pole. He had managed to unscrew it from the leg of a low table and thought it might be useful for smashing skylights. Luca nodded distractedly as he tied it on to his belt.

‘You’ll do just fine,’ Joel added, but his words fell on deaf ears. Luca had already stepped up on to the girder.