Authors: Chris Ryan
Tenth Man Down (35 page)
‘Jesus!’ I went. ‘I bet they’re shitting bricks up there, then.’
‘They don’t even know about the stuff, yet. Nobody knows about it except us – that is, Muende’s force.’
‘How many heads are there?’
‘Supposed to be about fifty.’
‘What size?’
‘I dunno – like so, maybe.’ Sam held his hands about four feet apart to indicate their length. ‘I guess they’re like hundred-millimetre shells.’
‘Has Muende got the means to deliver them?’
‘Oh, sure. He has plenty Russian rockets. That’s how the warheads got here. Left behind by the Russians when they pulled out in a hurry. Then forgotten. Or, put it another way, deliberately not remembered. Apparently they’re in an underground silo, but they’re deteriorating – going unstable.’
‘If that arsehole Muende does get his hands on them,’ I began. ‘When he’s been drinking, he’s not rational any more. He might turn round and start on South Africa.’
‘That’s right. And the South Africans on the team know that. From what I’ve heard, they’re cooking up some plan of their own. Muende thinks they’re going to help him recover the warheads. They are, but once they’ve got them, they’re planning to hijack them for their own purposes.’
‘What do
they
want them for?’
they
want them for?’
‘You tell me. Maybe they’re working covertly for their government. Maybe they’ve got some private agenda. But this whole thing’s getting to be too big a fuckin’ mess. That’s why I’m wanting out. Ordinary fighting’s one thing. Nuclear is something else.’
‘Don’t blame you,’ I said. ‘What’s the timing of the operation?’
‘Immediate. The Afundis are going for the war-heads tomorrow. Correction, today. They’re gonna start right out this morning. The great commander’s going to direct the operation in person. It’ll be some circus, I tell you.’
‘Where is this place?’ I asked.
‘Ichembo? Not that far west of here. North-west, I should say. Maybe a hundred miles. But the main force has got to come up from the south, and then they’ve got to cross the river.’
‘So when do they reckon to get there?’
‘Evening, I guess. Why, you gonna join the party?’
‘Some chance!’
‘Sam,’ said Genesis. ‘How did you get involved with this shower, anyway?’
‘Answered one of Interaction’s ads. Simple as that. Came out of the military and found civilian life a bit tedious. I guess I was looking for some excitement. But I tell you something: if I’d known what a shithole Kamanga was, I’d never have gotten involved.’
‘The same goes for us,’ I said. ‘Except that we didn’t have the choice, we just got sent.’
The conversation drifted on. I was in a peculiar state. Lying flat on my back, looking up at the stars, I felt exhaustion pressing in on me like a heavy atmosphere from outside. I had that thick, cloudy feeling in my head that I’d been blaming on the Lariam. But at the same time apprehension was needling me internally and keeping me awake. I had to discipline myself not to go on asking Sam the time; after two enquiries, it was still only just after 0500, and there was at least half an hour to kill. My biggest worry was the rest of our guys were about to fall into the same trap as we had. Unless we got back to stop them, they’d set off in search of us soon after first light, and drive head-first into the shit at the convent.
In spite of everything, I must have dozed off. Suddenly, Gen was shaking my shoulder and saying, ‘Watch yourself, Geordie. Something’s starting up.’
He and Sam were already on their feet, looking back at the camp, where torches were flashing and people were running about.
‘Sounds like they’ve broken in to the cell and found the body,’ said Sam. ‘We better get set.’
Above the camp, in the east, the sky had started to lighten, but the moon had set, and around us the land still looked black as coal.
‘Can’t we get off right away?’ Gen asked.
‘Not yet,’ I said, looking at the sky. ‘Have to hang on for a bit.’
‘We’ve got a few minutes,’ said Sam, calmly. ‘They’ll run around the huts like blue-assed flies, looking for you. There’s nothing to draw anybody in this direction. When they find you’re missing, most likely they’ll head for the transportation section. They’ll think you’re trying to steal a vehicle.’
‘You’d better be right.’
The longer we held on, the more I managed to convince myself that the aircraft’s engine wasn’t going to start. Given the Kamangans’ abysmal standards of maintenance, the chances of it firing up and running properly seemed infinitesimally small.
Now, more than ever, precise timing was going to be critical. If we took off prematurely, in the dark, we could be committing suicide. If we let the light get too strong, and then couldn’t start the engine, we’d almost certainly be spotted and picked off by trigger-happy guards.
Dawn seemed desperately retarded. Daylight strengthened with impossible slowness, the greyness hardly able to infiltrate the black. The sky was clear – not a cloud anywhere – so I knew the apparent slowdown was psychological, but that did nothing to speed things up or ease my nerves.
Back in the camp, the commotion kept increasing. Vehicles had started to scud about. Horns were blowing, torches and headlights flashing, orders being shouted, doors slammed.
‘Let’s flit,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s do it.’
Looking at him, I could just make out his features for the first time: dark hair, thick eyebrows, broad, humorous face.
‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘This is good enough.’
I’d hardly spoken when a pair of headlights swung out of the camp and came straight for us. They were five or six hundred metres off, but moving fast. Clearly, their objective was the hangar.
‘That’s it!’ I shouted. ‘Get in, Gen. Sam, on the starter!’
I jumped into the left-hand seat, squeezed the ball to pump fuel through the carbs, and called, ‘Pull!’
Sam pulled. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. At the third attempt the engine fired, backfired and cut. I stole a glance over my shoulder. The headlights were bouncing around, speeding towards us. I pumped again, and shouted, ‘Keep pulling!’ Once more the engine fired up and cut. In the silence I heard two sharp cracks snap out behind me. Screwing my head round, I saw the headlights boring in on us.
‘Pull, Sam!’ I bellowed. ‘For fuck’s sake, pull!’ My adrenalin was well up. My hands were shaking on the controls. As the engine fired again I whipped up the accelerator arm and sent the revs sky-high. ‘Okay! I yelled through the sudden scream. ‘Get in!’
More rounds were cracking past us. Sam, in front of me on the left, let go of the handle and ran round the front of the aircraft to jump in on top of Genesis. But as he came level with the open doorway, he gave a sudden yell, slumped forward and went down. From the way he buckled, backwards then forwards, I knew he’d got a round through the chest.
Gen made a move to get out and grab him.
‘Stay put! I yelled. ‘Leave him! He’s fucked.’
I ran up the revs, released the handbrake and got the little aircraft rolling. The acceleration felt sluggish, and the track was rough, but at least we were moving. I glanced over my shoulder once more and saw the pursuing headlights veer wildly from side to side. Then the beams whipped straight up into the sky, like searchlights, before they wheeled over and were snuffed out. The vehicle had hit a rock or gone into a hole.
By then the sky was fairly bright. What light we had was coming from behind us, so forward visibility was adequate and I could see my instruments. I fixed my eyes on the airspeed indicator and watched the needle pick up: fifteen knots, twenty, twenty-five. In a few moments the ASI was reading thirty-five. Mentally, I urged it upwards. Only five more needed for lift-off. Suddenly, on my left, a stream of glowing green spots zipped past from behind and went looping away into the distance.
‘Tracer!’ I yelled. ‘The bastards are firing at us.’
I ducked instinctively as sharp fragments rained down on my head. At the same instant I felt the nose lifting. Tracer on the right now. Suddenly, the perspex bubble in front of us starred: a round had come right through the cabin from behind. Forty knots. I eased back on the stick, and we were airborne.
I planned to stay as low as possible until we were out of small-arms’ range, in the hope that we’d be less visible and offer a more difficult target, so I levelled off at about a hundred feet and kept going due west. For the first few seconds there was open bush beneath us, then a higher, more solid wall of vegetation loomed ahead.
The engine noise was deafening, so I shouted, ‘Forest! Can’t stay so low. Got to climb.’
I pulled back the stick, lifting the nose. Dark tree canopy flashed beneath us. The ASI was showing fifty-five knots. We’d been flying for nearly a minute. We were easily one kilometre clear of the strip. A few more tracer rounds came floating past, but they were hopelessly wide of the mark. Every second we went further west was a waste of fuel. Surely it was safe to swing round on to the heading we wanted?
Gently I banked to the right, holding the turn until the compass needle settled on zero. As we came round, I could see the dawn breaking, away to our right: the rim of the sun was showing crimson on the horizon. Ahead lay the range of hills we had to cross. They rose in front of us, grey and crumpled, raked by long black shadows. I glanced across at Genesis, but his head was turned away as he too looked at the dawn, and I couldn’t see his face.
I started a gentle climb, easing the aircraft upwards in an attempt to conserve fuel by ascending as slowly as possible. Every few seconds I glanced at the cylinder-head temperature gauge. The needle for No. 1 had always been slightly higher than the one for No. 2. Now it began to climb, slowly but ominously. Up and up it went, to the edge of the red danger area. If the engine blew, that was us finished; I’d have no option but to glide down and land on the first level stretch we could find.
‘Starting to overheat!’ I shouted. ‘Nothing we can do.’
At that moment I saw two huge birds coming in at us from the left front, big black silhouettes, almost one collision course. At the last moment they peeled off and fell away, to the left and below. From their long necks and trailing legs I reckoned they were storks, probably weighing twenty or thirty pounds. One of them into the canopy would have made a fine mess of us.
I straightened up and got back on course, so intent on watching the gauges, the ASI, the compass and the sky ahead for more birds that I ceased to think about the light. All the while the sky had been growing brighter, but then, because we were climbing, came a sudden, dramatic change. One moment we were still in the shadow of the earth, the next, the sun was over the horizon, and its radiance exploded all round us. In an instant it had flooded the whole of Africa with light.
‘Hey!’ I shouted in a moment of exultation. ‘How about that!’
Genesis turned half towards me, and said, very loud, ‘“To give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death.”’
A moment later I felt him shudder violently. My right shoulder was pressed against his left, so the tremor was transmitted straight to me. I turned to look at him again. His head had dropped forward and was rolling back and forth across his chest.
‘Gen!’ I shouted.
I reached for his left hand with my right, lifted it, shook it. When I let go, it flopped off his knee and hung down, lifeless. I shouted his name again and twisted round to look at him. The only way I could get a proper view was by releasing my harness and coming half out of my seat, still holding the throttle and the stick. By doing that I got a sight of his chest, and saw blood seeping out down the front of his DPMs from a point just below the heart. I knew in an instant he was dead. The bullet that shattered the windshield had gone right through his torso from back to front.
I felt shaken to bits. I couldn’t believe it. Why hadn’t he said something when he was hit? Why hadn’t he yelled? Even if he had, I couldn’t have done anything to save him. But at least I’d have known the score. How typical of him not to complain. He must have known he was mortally wounded. Typical Gen to conceal his own trouble so that he didn’t disturb my concentration. Typical above all, in his last moments of consciousness, to come out with that quote from the Bible.
I felt choked, exhausted physically and emotionally, pissed off to the final degree with Africa and all these feuding savages. For a few seconds I thought, there’s one easy way to end this: climb to a thousand feet, point the nose down and open the throttle. That would be the finish of your worries, Geordie Sharp. Then, instead of self-pity, I felt shame, and said to myself, what about your mates, Geordie? They’re in the shit, nearly as deep as you, and they need your presence fast. Concentrate. Get back to them. Retrench. That was easier said than done. I’d begun to shake so violently that I could hardly hold the stick still. The cause wasn’t the cold – already the sun was hot on my right cheek and arm – it was more to do with shock and reaction.
Almost without noticing it, I cleared the highest point of the ridge, which was covered in grey rock and nearly bare of trees. Until then I’d hardly bothered with the altimeter. While waiting for takeoff, I hadn’t been able to see enough to wind it back to zero, and I knew any reading it showed would be only approximate. Now it was giving me 1,200 feet, which was obviously my height above sea level, rather than above the ground.
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