Soldier's Daughters (37 page)

A wave of nausea swept through Maddy. She sat still till it passed. That was it, she wanted her bed. She went into the kitchen, where Jenna was all sympathy.

‘Really, really good job I’m here now with you feeling poorly and all. Don’t you mind me, I’m more than capable of looking after myself. I’ll see you in the morning. Night-night.’

The sun had all but set and the darkness was rapidly getting more intense and Blake and Sam still hadn’t reached the road. If Sam’s map-reading was accurate, they still had miles to cover. Blake’s estimate as to how fast they’d cover the ground had been way off. They hadn’t even got to the river they had to cross and fording it in the dark would be fraught with danger. Were they going to have to stop and spend the night in the bush? Although that posed its own dangers, which were probably as significant as continuing to drive. Carry on or camp? It had to be her decision but supposing she made the wrong one and put them both in jeopardy? She could hear her father’s voice in her head – don’t be more stupid than you can help, girl.

At least the worst of the heat was now over, although Sam was still aware of sweat drops trickling down her spine every now and again. On the plus side she didn’t need to slather on any more factor fifty. She and Blake still needed to take in plenty of water and another litre bottle was nearly empty. Maybe they ought to stop for a quick break and a really good look at the map. She was about to suggest a halt when there was the most almighty bang, which made her leap out of her skin.

‘Fuck!’ shouted Blake and he jammed on the brakes with such force that Sam’s head almost connected with the dashboard. In frustration he banged the steering-wheel with both his palms.

‘What the hell…?’ asked Sam.

Blake shut his eyes and sighed deeply. ‘We’ve blown a tyre.’

That was all they needed. They only had the one spare, so if they carried on and had another blow-out they really would be in trouble. In the poor light Blake had already failed to spot a hazard which had caused the puncture, a repeat was almost inevitable if they carried on. So, they’d change the tyre, try and make contact by radio yet again and make some sort of camp here for the night. They had plenty of water and some food – not much but enough – and they both had mossie nets. They could take it in turns to keep watch for marauding animals, they had guns and ammo, they would be safe, and at first light they’d go again. They’d be at the engineers’ camp by breakfast, thought Sam. Not ideal, way behind schedule, but it’d have to do. What was the old quote… no plan survives the first contact? Well, it was something like that. You can plan in detail but when the shit kicks off you have to juggle the balls as best you can.

She tried for five minutes to get someone to respond to her insistent calls on the radio but nothing happened. That was the fourth time that day she’d tried and although she really didn’t want to admit it, the radio seemed to be fucked. Maybe all that bouncing about had been too much for it. It was probably a loose wire or a faulty connection but she didn’t want to start taking it to bits out here, in the dark – that really was asking for trouble.

While Blake got busy with the jack, the spare wheel and the wheel-nut wrench Sam grabbed her daysack and tramped off to look for a suitable place for them to camp. The ground around the Rover was covered in tennis-ball-sized lumps of rock and a lot of low-growing thorns. She did a quick recce into the bush to find somewhere more suitable. About twenty yards away she found a big enough patch of flat, dusty and barren ground that would allow both of them to lie down without too much discomfort. She dropped her sack and then returned to the Rover to unload the necessary kit to make camp and start ferrying it to the spot. By her third trip Blake had managed to loosen all the wheel nuts and had got the jack in place. It was obvious that this wheel change was pretty much going as per the textbook so Sam left him to it and went back to their camp to start sorting things out.

The sound of the shot made her jump so much she actually dropped what she was carrying. Then she heard voices. Strange voices. Voices that weren’t speaking English – or at least she didn’t think so. Her heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear anything.

Then there was another shot and almost instantly that awful whining ping of a ricochet. And then another – and another ping.

Ignoring the sharp stones on the ground, and the spiky thorns, Sam leopard-crawled towards the Rover. At least the darkness was now a blessing rather than a hindrance. As she approached, her adrenalin kicked off again. In the faint light afforded by the last of the sun’s glow on the horizon she could make out three large black men wearing tattered and dirty shorts and shirts with bandoleers of ammo slung over their shoulders and each carrying an AK47.

Blake stood in front of them, his hands in the air. Sam reached down to her belt kit and flipped open the holster that contained her Glock and pulled it out. As quietly as possible she cocked it but even as she did she knew it was an almost pointless gesture. Three AK47s against a pistol? It was laughable odds. One shot from her and this lot would start hosing out bullets in all directions. Blake would be killed in an instant and she’d better hope she followed soon after. She didn’t fancy what would happen to her if they took her alive.

She lay on the ground, looking through the scrub and wishing she could understand what they were saying. One of the poachers was waving his gun around but he didn’t look as though he was completely threatening. She saw Blake drop his hands and then he carried on changing the tyre. The guys around him lit up cigarettes, obviously in high spirits as they watched a white man working. But even though they looked relaxed, they held their weapons ready.

Finally Blake finished with the wheel and Sam could discern the leader of the poachers gesticulating to Blake to back off. He moved right away from the Rover. Sam brought her gun up and aimed at the leader’s body – the biggest target and the place to shoot an opponent if you’re not a crack shot, which Sam knew she wasn’t. If the head poacher looked as if he was going to take out Blake, she’d fire.

Sam concentrated on her breathing and tried to hold her gun as steady as possible. She didn’t know if it was nerves or fatigue that was making her hand shake slightly. Then the poacher laughed – she could see his white teeth – before he and the others jumped in the Rover, fired the engine and roared off. As they passed Blake one of them leaned out of the vehicle and smashed his rifle butt into Blake’s head. He didn’t see it coming and went down like a felled pine.

It took a few seconds for the sound of the engine to be far enough away for Sam to feel safe enough to leave her cover. Shaky with relief, she manage to scramble to her feet and run over to Blake. She knew she had tears streaming down her face but it was due to shock and the release from danger, wasn’t it? She flung herself down beside Blake and checked him. There was a livid mark on his forehead where the butt of the weapon had caught his temple, but his breathing was steady. She jumped up again and raced back to the camp, tripping over rocks and getting snared in the scrub as the darkness was now absolute. She rummaged around in the makeshift camp, finding her Bergen, feeling for the things she wanted, remembering which pouches contained which items, feeling around on the ground till she found the bottles of water. With her hands full she made her way back to Blake. She slipped on a head-torch and then used a field-dressing and water to bathe his forehead. After a few minutes his eyelids fluttered and he groaned.

‘Thank fuck, you’re OK,’ she said. There was another groan.

Blake groaned a third time and his eyes cracked open. He winced as the light from the head-torch shone right into them.

Sam whipped it off her head.

‘How are you? How do you feel?’

‘Shit,’ Blake croaked. He raised a hand to rub his head.

Sam caught his hand. ‘Don’t touch it. The skin is broken, I don’t want you infecting it.’

‘They’ve gone, then?’

Sam nodded. ‘They whacked you one with an AK47 as a parting gift.’

Blake gave the barest of nods. ‘Oh, yeah.’

‘But at least we’re all right.’

Blake glared at her. ‘So where were you?’ he asked.

Sam pointed to a clump of scrub, nearby. ‘In that, trying to get a bead on the leader.’

‘Keeping your head down, then.’

Sam felt insanely hurt. ‘No! I didn’t think me rocking up waving a handgun about was likely to make things better.’ She glared at him. ‘As it was, I thought if I lay low, I might be able help if the bullets started flying. Now I can see I shouldn’t have bothered.’ She regretted her tone as soon as the words were out. She sounded petty.

‘I’m sorry. I overreacted. I was worried about you.’

‘Why? They hadn’t got me.’

‘No, but I didn’t know that.’

‘I suppose not.’ She added, ‘Blimey, that’s twice you’ve said
sorry
to me in one day. You’re going soft.’

‘Don’t push it, boss,’ said Blake.

She offered Blake the water bottle. ‘Like some?’

Blake, wincing, sat up and took the bottle from her. He drank a few gulps.

‘How do you feel now?’ she asked.

‘Honestly?’

Sam nodded.

‘My head throbs and I’m still shaking. But I don’t think there’s anything serious going on; no concussion or anything.’

‘Well, that’s something.’

Blake slurped some more water. ‘Shit, how much of this have we got?’ He stared at the half empty litre bottle.

‘About four, five bottles. It’s not great but at least we’ve got some. And I’ve got my Glock. Things are far from ideal but it could be worse.’

Blake sighed. ‘ And now Pollyanna appears.’

‘There isn’t any point in crying, is there? Let’s face it, we’re on our own. No one has got a clue where we are, we’ve no comms, no map and it’s pitch sodding dark. We can weep and wail or we can brace up…’

‘Brace up it is, then, boss.’

‘Good. Because I honestly think that we ought to think about moving right now, while it’s cool. We can lie up in the daytime in the shade.’

Blake frowned. ‘You could have a point. If we only have about five litres of water, we’ve got to make it last. What about food?’

‘A twenty-four-hour ration pack.’

‘Ammo?’

Sam showed him her Glock. ‘A full mag.’

‘Well, at least we’ve got some protection.’

‘You don’t think the poachers will come back?’

‘Poachers? Shit, no.’ Blake laughed. ‘No, what we need is protection against every other damn thing out there that might see us as a snack.’ He stood up. ‘Right, we’re going to ditch everything that isn’t completely essential, cut down the loads we have to carry to the bare minimum. And if the army doesn’t like the fact we’re dumping their kit they can charge us when we get back.’

Sam liked the fact he said
when
and not
if
.

Sam trudged on. She was tired, her boots chafed, her arms were covered in itchy bites, she had a headache and she was thirsty but she couldn’t give in. She stumbled again. Not through tiredness, although she was knackered, but because, yet again, some bloody plant had done its damnedest to trip her up.

And it was still hot. Not the blistering heat of the day, but hot enough to slowly drain her energy, like a leak in a bucket will surely empty it. It wasn’t only the heat that was tiring. There was also the constant battle with the scrub and knee-high dried grass that tangled itself around her ankles, tripping her up, snagging her steps and generally making the least progress a battle. Sam sighed as she trudged.

‘Let’s have a rest,’ Blake said. ‘We’ve been going for three hours and I for one have had enough.’

Oh, thank fuck for that. Sam stopped and eased her shoulders against the weight of the day sack before she took it off. She opened it and rationed out a boiled sweet each from their meagre food supplies and poured them each a small amount of water. She watched Blake sip his, rolling the fluid around his mouth before he swallowed it.

‘How’s the head?’ she asked.

‘Sore,’ he admitted.

She put on her head-torch. ‘Let me have a look… I don’t think it’s infected,’ she said after a few seconds. ‘If you feel anything, if it starts to tingle or if the headaches get worse, anything, tell me.’

‘And you’ll do what?’

She took off her head-torch by way of procrastination. ‘Good point, well brought out…’

Blake laughed. ‘Whenever an officer says that, it always means they don’t have a sodding clue how to answer the question.’

No, well… The first-aid kit had been in the vehicle so if they needed more than a field dressing or a sticking plaster they were out of luck.

He looked at her and raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘And the answer is?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ she admitted.

‘Then we’d better hope things stay as they are, hadn’t we?’

She gazed at him steadily. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I think we ought to stop. Get some sleep for a few hours and then start off again a few hours before dawn, when it should be at its coolest.’

‘You think?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m no expert but I reckon if we exhaust ourselves completely we’ll make crap decisions. I think we need our wits about us if we’re going to survive out here.’

She plopped down, using her day sack as a pillow as she stretched out on the ground. Blake followed suit but using the Bergen as a backrest. Sam gazed up at the stars. She laughed inwardly – some people would probably give their back teeth to see a sight like this. Ha! If only they knew that all you had to do was get bounced by poachers and nearly lose your life and you could have it for free. Still, it was good the sky was clear as it gave them a bead on the Plough. They couldn’t actually see the Pole Star, it was too low on the horizon, but the Pointers were clear enough and that was all they needed to keep trekking north. They had to reach the river, find the crossing point and then head for the main road. The river ran right across their route so they were bound to come across that but the rest…? She brought her attention back to the here and now.