The Delta (52 page)

Sam and Jim sat on a log outside the general's command tent at the rebels' hideout across the border in the Linyanti swamps. Sam slapped the back of his neck. The mosquito that had been distracting him for the past ten minutes was a distraction from the thoughts that filled his head and churned his insides. He was almost sad when he inspected his fingers and saw the blood.

‘Waiting's a bitch, isn't it?' Rickards said.

Sam admired the Australian's cool and wondered how much of his nonchalance was an act. Sam checked his gear again. In his daypack was a litre water bottle, two wound dressings a rebel medic had given him, spare batteries for Jim's camera, and four tins of what was optimistically billed as Texan beef. The pistol Sonja had given him was stuffed in the rear of the waistband
of his jeans. When he leaned forward the unforgiving steel dug into him. On no level was he comfortable about carrying the weapon he had used to kill a man. He squeezed his eyes tight to try and force away the image of the blood spurting from the man's mouth as he died.

‘Headache?'

Sam shook his head.

‘Take a swig of this.' Rickards reached into his own bag and pulled out a water bottle filled with a cloudy liquid.

‘What is it?' Sam wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the acidic vapours that escaped when he unscrewed the cap.

‘Palm wine. One of the Caprivian soldiers gave it to me. Dutch Courage. Don't drink too much of it or you won't be able to see where you're going – ever again.' Rickards laughed.

Sam took a swig and coughed out half of the bitter fluid. The rest felt like it had exfoliated several layers of skin from the inside of his throat. ‘Holy shit.' Sam heard footsteps behind him. Martin Steele, in his neatly pressed camouflage uniform, emerged from the command tent, drew a thick cigar from the pocket of his fatigue shirt and tapped it from its aluminium container.

‘Any news?' Sam asked.

Steele shook his head and held a match to the cigar. He puffed a few times until the tip glowed orange. He took the cigar from his mouth and exhaled into the night sky. ‘Too early.'

A ringtone chirped and Steele reached into the side pocket of his cargo trousers and pulled out a satellite phone. He moved three paces away and answered the call. ‘I understand. Good work.' He ended the call.

‘Who was that?' Sam asked.

‘Sonja. She is inside the construction site perimeter and they're on their way to plant the explosives. You two should get
your shit together and be ready to move at short notice. Understood?'

Sam nodded, and so did Jim. He sensed Steele's warning order had put an end to Rickards's bravado and wisecracks. Perhaps the cameraman really was as nervous as Sam.

The flap of the general's command tent twitched and a wide-eyed Caprivian soldier appeared. ‘Mr Steele! Come quick, please. It's Major Kurtz, on the radio.'

Sam and Jim got up and followed Steele, pausing at the tent opening as he moved to a wooden trestle table that was bowed under the weight of four different military radio sets. A signal-man with headphones on looked up at the new arrivals and turned a switch activating a speaker.

The overweight Caprivian general slapped his swagger stick on the sliver of clear table top, making the young soldier manning the radios jump. ‘How could this happen?' the commander barked.

‘…
Fish Eagle, this is Eland … I say again …'
Sam recognised Sonja's father's voice, though it was distorted by static and intermittent popping sounds. ‘…
say again … we have been ambushed. Forces at airfield are far more than expected … armoured vehicles … mortars. The helicopter can't get to us … ground fire is too heavy. I've ordered it to return to your location. Suggest you recall main force … over
.'

The general opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out. He stared blankly at Steele. Sam felt like someone had trickled cold water down his back.

‘I agree with Hans, sir,' Steele said to the general, who slowly nodded in acknowledgement, but still couldn't speak. ‘Where exactly did the main force cross the border?'

The general looked dumbly at the large-scale topographic map pinned to a board behind his desk, then back at Steele. Sam
knew that the two parts of the operation – blowing the Okavango Dam, and taking the strategic town of Katima Mulilo and nearby M'pacha airbase – had been planned in isolation from each other, because of security concerns.

‘Tell me … sir. I suggest we move the ready reaction force to the border immediately to cover the withdrawal of the main body of troops. We'll use the helicopter and keep it on station on the Botswana side to provide air cover with machine-guns, in case your men are pursued, and to act as a casevac. Do you concur, sir?'

The general blinked several times and coughed to clear his throat. ‘Yes … yes, Major,' he croaked. The commander moved to the map and pointed to a spot on the border between Botswana and Namibia. ‘Here.'

‘Grid reference?' Steele looked from the general to the two soldiers manning the radios.

‘Give it to the major,' the general said to the elder of the two men. The signaller took out a notebook, wrote down the coordinates and handed them to Steele.

Steele took the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He snatched up a radio handset. ‘With your permission, sir?'

The general nodded, struck dumb once again.

‘Eland this is Fish Eagle, over,' Steele said into the handset. He paused, then repeated the call.

‘
Eland, go. Is that who I think it is?
' Kurtz replied.

Steele keyed the microphone. ‘It is. I can try and get through to you, with the ready reaction force. Can you break contact and RV with us away from the target, over?'

‘
Negative
,' Kurtz said, his message punctuated with the popping of more gunshots. ‘
It'd be suicide for you to try. Did you copy my last?
'

Steele looked around the tent at the silent, apprehensive men.
‘Roger, Eland. Main force is being recalled and we'll cover their exfiltration. Any last message, over?'

There was a pause as everyone waited for the reply. ‘
Tell … tell my wife, my son and my daughter I love them. Eland, out
.'

‘A brave man,' Steele said.

‘There's nothing you can do for him?' the general said.

Steele shook his head. ‘No, sir. However, we can save the bulk of your forces and Major Kurtz and his men won't have died in vain. The Namibians won't be able to keep the attack on M'pacha a secret. It'll be all over the world's news tomorrow.'

‘Not without any pictures, mate,' Rickards said.

Steele looked at him.

‘He's right,' said Sam. ‘We still need to get some vision of the Caprivian troops in action – even if it is a tactical withdrawal, or whatever you call it.'

Steele rubbed his jaw. ‘I'm not sure.'

Sam didn't think Steele was the kind of man to voice indecision, so he jumped back in. ‘There'll still be the explosion of the dam. We have to get that on video, and pick up Sonja and Gideon.'

‘All right,' Steele conceded. ‘But my first priority is covering the evacuation of the rest of Kurtz's men from Namibia. Sonja isn't due to blow the dam for another two hours – close to dawn. I'll get the reaction force in place then come back with a helicopter and pick you up. You can get the shots at the dam and then we'll go back on station at the border. By that time you should see Caprivian troops crossing as the sun comes up. Will that satisfy you?'

Sam ignored the sneer in Steele's voice and looked at Rickards, who nodded.

Steele looked at the commander, who still seemed in a state of bewilderment. ‘General?'

‘Yes … yes, of course, Major Steele. Carry on.'

Sam and Jim moved away from the opening of the tent, back out towards the empty clearing. ‘This waiting is killing me,' Sam said. ‘What are we going to do for another two hours?'

Rickards grinned. ‘I know what I'm going to do, Sammy boy. A bit of stress relief.'

Sam shook his head. ‘You're mad.'

‘No, just perpetually horny.'

‘Promise? Promise?'

Jim raised his voice as much as he dared, hoping the prostitute wasn't too drunk to wake. One of the Caprivian soldiers he'd been filming the day before had invited him back to his tent for a drink after Jim had finished shooting video footage of the soldier and his machine-gun for the camera. After splitting a dozen beers and half a bottle of palm wine with him the African had told his new best friend that he needed to go find a woman.

‘Where?' Jim had asked.

‘There are always girls who follow soldiers. They camp on the island near us. The general doesn't approve and Major Kurtz is worried about diseases, but …'

‘Nothing ever changes,' Jim had observed. He'd meandered after the soldier along a pathway through the reeds that flanked the river and through a patch of ankle-deep water and glutinous black mud that he guessed divided one low-lying island in the swamps from another, until they had come across a pretty girl with tightly braided hair wearing a faded floral sundress. In a sweeping glance he saw he'd come to the right place. She had high, firm breasts with nipples challenging the thin cotton; smooth, firm thighs below the frayed hem; and a wide, beaming smile. It had been weeks since he'd had a woman.

‘She's nice,' he'd said to the soldier.

‘Promise?' The soldier had looked askance. ‘Her arse is too small. Take her. I'm looking for Goodness.'

‘Promise,' he whispered now, at the hanging blanket that served as a door to the reed and thatch hut where he was fairly sure she lived.

The blanket twitched. She stood there, dressed in a nightie that reached the dirt floor. She blinked twice, still half asleep. ‘James?'

‘I have to go soon … to the battle. I don't have much time.'

She smiled, though her eyes were heavy with sleep. ‘Come in, big man. Sit, sit, sit.'

He looked around. There was no chair, just a crude palliasse, a mattress made of coarse hessian stuffed with straw, and an upturned plastic beer crate that served as a small table. He didn't care. He laid his camera down on the box and undid the webbing belt with the pouches that held his spare batteries and tapes. He knelt down on the mattress and looked up at her.

He was nervous – not because of being with the woman, but because of the fight to come that didn't seem to be going as planned. He hoped he'd be able to perform, but when she raised her nightie up over her head and revealed herself to him again the doubts disappeared. While her face was covered, as she fumbled slightly to pull the gown off, he smiled to himself and leaned over the beer crate. He pushed the ‘record' button on the camera's hand grip. The wide angle lens was fitted.

She came closer to him. ‘Put on a light,' he said.

‘Why?'

‘I want to remember every inch of you … just in case.'

‘Don't say such bad things, James. You will be fine. You must come back to Promise.'

‘I promise.'

She giggled as she picked up a paraffin lantern from the dirt
floor, raised the glass mantle and lit the wick with a match.

‘That's better,' he said as she adjusted the flame so that the lantern filled the hut with warm, soft yellow light. ‘Now I can see you better.' Forever, he thought lasciviously.

‘What you want, James?'

‘Get down, like before.'

She smiled and winked at him, looking back over her shoulder as she positioned herself on all fours on the thin mattress. He unlaced and kicked off his hiking boots then unzipped his jeans and began running his hand up and down his growing erection. When he was hard he took a condom from his pocket and shrugged off his pants.

‘You are in a hurry?'

‘Just to get started, baby.' Promise faced forward again and Rickards looked across at the lens and winked as he rolled on the latex sheath, then knelt behind her.

Promise pushed back against him and Rickards grabbed her hips and drove hard enough into her to make her raise her head and gasp. Promise kept her gaze fixed on the wall of the hut and Jim glanced at the camera, smiled, and then lifted his right hand from her bottom to give a quick salute to the audience that would one day watch this masterpiece of his. He returned to the business at hand. He was going to come soon, but what the hell, he thought, he could always go again. There was plenty of time.

‘Get ready, baby.' Rickards closed his eyes.

Promise shuddered and he felt her head and shoulders drop to the floor. He opened his eyes and saw her breasts were on the mattress. ‘Nearly there!' It felt like she was trying to pull herself off his cock so he dug his fingers into the flesh of her hips to hold her.

‘Don't stop now, baby,' he breathed. There was no point holding back now. ‘Aaaaaah … yessss!' His hands were slippery with
perspiration and as he came he lost his grip on her and she fell forward onto the mattress. He panted hard. ‘Promise? Promise, are you OK?' It looked like she'd passed out. ‘Woo baby! Who's the man?'

He threw back his head and started laughing, but when he looked down at her again he saw the blood spreading on the hessian of the mattress cover. It welled from the side of her head.

‘Holy shit!' Rickards jumped up, his semierect penis flopping about. He turned and saw the man, and the pistol with the unmistakable extra length of the silencer screwed to the end. He'd shot Promise and Jim had been too engrossed in his own climax to notice. Rickards smelled the cigar smoke that had followed the man into the confines of the hut. ‘You?'

Martin Steele's mouth curled into a half-smile. He looked pointedly from Rickards's startled eyes to his limp penis. ‘Don't worry, Jim, I'm sure she didn't feel a thing.'