The Delta (60 page)

‘I've got my foot flat to the floor,' Sam said.

They'd left the river well downstream of the breached dam, but by using dead reckoning and a network of old tracks carved out by the South African Defence Force when it had been based in the wilds of the land now known as the Bwabwata National Park,
Sonja had navigated the BTR 60 north to the B8. Once on the main road they raced towards Kongola.

Just ten minutes earlier they had caught up with the truck convoy of troops from the dam site who were heading for the rebel stronghold at Kongola. Sonja, who was sitting in the gunner's turret, had closed her hatch and told Sam to just keep driving. Soldiers on the roadside waved at them and gave close-fisted salutes as they trundled past.

When Sonja risked opening the hatch again she saw mortar bombs landing on the CLA's fortified position on the far side of the bridge over the Kwando River at Kongola. Ahead of her, dismounted infantry were advancing on either side of another BTR 60, identical to theirs. As Sam motored down the hill she saw the other armoured car approaching the bridge, all the while firing into the Caprivian troops and the barricades they had constructed around the crossing.

‘They're murdering them,' Sam yelled over the engine noise.

‘I know. We've got to stop them.'

The BTR 60 in front of them was spinning its huge wheels as it pushed against one of the two vehicles blocking the bridge. The small Volkswagen hatchback was slowly being slid out of the path of the armoured car. At the same time, every burst of fire from its main gun destroyed another section of fortified wall or killed or wounded another two or three of the defenders. Despite the hopeless odds, the rebels were returning fire. Sonja heard rounds zinging off their vehicle as some of the Caprivians shifted their fire. She pulled her hatch closed.

‘Drive right up his arse, Sam.'

He looked back over his shoulder and grinned at her. ‘Is it wrong for me to be enjoying this?' They slowed and weaved around the burned-out trucks.

‘Welcome to my world.'

Sam floored the accelerator and the car charged onto the bridge.

Through the vision slits in the turret Sonja could see NDF riflemen in camouflage uniforms pouring onto the bridge as well. The arrival of the second armoured vehicle had given the Namibians another shot of courage and they all wanted to be part of the kill now that victory seemed certain. The soldiers showed no indication that the second BTR 60 wasn't expected.

‘Get me close, Sam.'

‘You got it.' The other BTR 60 had almost created a gap in the two-vehicle blockade big enough for it to get between the car and the pick-up. Sam pulled up just fifty metres behind it.

‘Firing now!'

Sonja thumbed the firing button on the heavy machine-gun and the turret filled with smoke and the clatter of ejected brass casings as the slugs from the gun struck the other vehicle at almost point-blank range. Most of Sonja's bullets bounced off the target's armour, ricocheting off at wild angles. Soldiers on the ground halted their advance and took cover wherever they could, confused by the sudden burst of what looked like friendly fire.

Sonja aimed at the base of the other turret, where it met the main hull of the car, in the belief that this would be one of the weakest points. She also wanted to distract the other gunner, even if she couldn't kill him.

The driver of the other armoured vehicle was trying to put some distance between him and Sam and, with a nerve-grating screech of buckling metal, the BTR 60 finally squeezed through the gap between the truck and the car. ‘He's got his wheels turned towards the side of the bridge,' Sam yelled over the din of firing.

‘So?' Sonja screamed back, focusing her concentration on aiming the big, unfamiliar weapon.

‘I'm going to ram him. I'll try and push him off the bridge.'

‘Go for it!'

The opposing gunner was now well and truly aware of the danger behind him and he was rotating his turret. Sonja conserved her ammunition and waited for the next round of the dual. She figured the slit where the 14.5 millimetre protruded from the turret would be another natural weak point. No doubt, though, her adversary was thinking the same thing. It would be decided by who was quickest on the trigger and the best shot.

Sam pumped the accelerator a few times, revving the big engine, then let the armoured car surge forward. ‘Hang on!'

Sonja braced herself in the turret but still banged her head on the gun sight as the pointed hull of their vehicle slammed into the vertically sloping rear of the other car. The impact of the collision pushed the other vehicle three metres, and into the steel crash barrier at the side of the bridge.

Sonja recovered her wits and pumped another long burst of fire into the enemy gun turret as Sam backed up and revved the engine again. She could hear the other driver gunning his own engine and grinding his gears. ‘Go, Sam!'

Sam stood on the gas pedal again and rammed into his target once more. The sharp bow of the other vehicle broke through the barrier and was now overhanging the bridge, but the gunner had succeeded in swinging his turret almost all the way around.

‘Keep pushing, Sam!' Sonja yelled, waiting for her chance.

Sam gunned the engine and smoke started to pour from all eight of the big rubber tyres as they spun and squealed on the road surface. Inch by inch they were pushing their opponents to the edge.

‘Come on, come on,' Sonja willed the other gunner.

They were so close now, nose to tail with the other vehicle, that the tips of the barrels of the two heavy machine-guns would be
little more than a couple of metres apart when they met on the same traverse. Almost there, she thought. ‘Fuck it,' she said, and pushed the firing button.

Nothing happened.

‘Sonja?'

‘Blockage!' she yelled, cursing the Russian technology and ammunition as she opened the feed cover, cleared it, closed it again and furiously yanked back on the gun's cocking lever.

‘Get down out of the turret!'

‘No, Sam, I'm nearly there!'

She looked up out of her viewing slit at the mouth of the other gun's barrel, which was now pointing straight at her face. She reached for the firing button, but knew she was probably too late. ‘Aaargh!'

‘What is it?'

Sam's question was answered by the intense heat of a fireball that rolled over their vehicle, sending stinging, acrid smoke and fumes through their narrow vision slits. Sam ducked as the storm brewed around them. He rammed the gear lever into reverse and backed away.

Sonja popped open the hatch of her turret and peeked out. The top of the other BTR 60 was engulfed in fire, and men screamed from inside it. Even as the flames burned there were other men – Caprivian rebels – swarming out from behind their shattered barricades and surrounding the burning vehicle.

The driver's hatch opened and a man climbed out. Immediately he was engulfed by flames. A rebel soldier silenced his screams with a single shot. One other man got out without being burned and was taken prisoner, but the third crew member cried for a little while longer. Opening the hatches had allowed the fire to spread to the inside of the car so it was impossible to get in to rescue the trapped man. Rebels put their hands on the hot steel
and tried to push the stricken armoured car over the edge.

Sam revved his engine again and moved forward, scattering the troops. He nudged into the rear and accelerated. Without the driver inside working the brakes the vehicle rolled easily off the bridge. As it fell and flipped on its top side in the sandy bed below, the ammunition inside started exploding. A few seconds later the fuel tank caught fire and erupted.

A bullet flew past Sonja's ear. She turned and saw the NDF infantry, who a few minutes earlier had been full of enthusiasm for the fight, had now clustered at the far end of the bridge, lying in the roadway and on grass verges, and taking other cover where they could find it.

‘Come on!' she yelled at the rebels who were gathering and cheering around them. ‘Finish the job!'

She and Sam closed their hatches again and Sam reversed and made a three-point turn. With the gun's breech cleared Sonja started firing again. Sam moved the BTR forward at walking pace but had to increase his speed to keep up with the charging, firing Caprivians who swept down the bridge on either side of him and Sonja.

The Namibian soldiers had no stomach for the fight and ran back up the hill in the direction from which they'd come, back towards Divundu. Sonja stopped when she came to the remains of the rebel stronghold and opened the hatch again, grateful for the fresh air. She stood on top of the armoured car and reached out a hand to help Sam climb up out of the driver's compartment. He hugged her and she wrapped her arms around him.

He held her away from him and looked at her. ‘We did it!'

She nodded and looked into his eyes. He kissed her and they hugged again and she never wanted to let him go. Her heart was pounding madly and, for once, she didn't think it had anything to do with battle.

‘Sonja?' she heard a weak voice call.

Sonja looked down and there was her father, walking down the bridge towards them. She looked at Sam.

‘Go to him, Sonja.'

She climbed down, smiling wide. She was so happy to see he was alive. The fight wasn't over, but they had blown the dam and fought off a determined counterattack. The NDF would be wary about making another, and worried about losing more men. If the rebellion gained popular support they might still be able to negotiate peace and a deal for an independent Caprivi without more bloodshed.

‘Papa …'

He reached out his arms to her, but just as she was about to reach him he staggered and dropped to one knee.

‘Dad … you're hurt.' She felt the lump swell in her throat and the tears prick her eyes. She knew he'd sounded in pain on the satellite phone. She saw the blood on the side of his shirt, and on his hands. ‘Medic! Help me … medic!'

Miriam came running from the far end of the bridge. Her little boy was in the arms of another woman, but he wriggled and struggled until she let him go and went toddling after his mother. In defiance of Hans's orders to evacuate, his wife and son had clearly been hiding close to the Caprivian defensive position.

Hans slipped to the roadway and Sonja knelt beside him, cradling his head in her arms. ‘Papa, please don't die, not now … not now that …'

‘That we've found each other?' He coughed.

‘Not now that you owe me a case of beer for saving your life.'

He tried to laugh, but the pain was too much. Blood welled at his lips.

‘Not now, Papa. Hang on. You'll be fine.'

He forced a smile. ‘Reassure the patient, hey? One of the first rules of first aid. Did you learn that in the army, like me?'

She wiped the perspiration from his forehead. ‘I learned it from you, Dad. You taught me first aid. On the farm, remember?'

He blinked twice. ‘Yes, my girl. I remember. Reassure me some more.'

‘I love you, Dad, and I missed you for so long. You can't leave now.'

He coughed again, and more blood came with it. ‘If God wills it, I must go.'

Miriam came to the other side of him and dropped to her knees. She took his hand in hers and a few moments later their son arrived and clung to his mother.

‘We're homeless, you and I, Sonja …' His skin was terribly pale and his breathing shallow. He winced in pain. ‘The country we were born in has a new name and neither of us can go back to Botswana now.'

‘You've helped make a home for all these people, Papa … for Miriam and Frederick.'

He shook his head, and the effort seemed to drain almost the last of his strength. ‘No, Sonja. Countries … flags, they don't matter. Here is our home, in each other's arms. Go to your daughter. Don't leave it as long as we did. Find your home and be … be happy.'

Sonja took her father's free hand and, together with Miriam and Frederick, sat with Hans until he died.

‘She's gone, Sonja. I thought you knew,' Stirling Smith said when she asked to speak to her daughter.

‘I don't know what you're talking about. Gone where? With who?'

‘With your
friend
Martin Steele, of course. To Johannesburg and then Mauritius, I gather.'

‘Jesus Christ.'

‘Sonja? What happened at the dam … was that you?'

‘When did Steele leave?'

‘It was wrong, Sonja, blowing it up.'

‘For God's sake, Stirling, shut up about the bloody dam. Steele … when did he leave; what else did he say?'

There was a pause on the end of the line. ‘He only left a few hours ago, on a Mack Air charter to Maun – same plane he arrived at Xakanaxa on. He'll be on the Air Bots flight later today. He stayed long enough to meet with that bloody Bernard Trench and collect the rest of his money – your money.'

Sonja tried calling Emma's mobile phone, but it went straight to voicemail. ‘Emma, if you get this, my love, please, please, please get away from Martin as soon as you can and go to the nearest police station. He's dangerous. I'm coming for you. Call me.' Sonja left her number, for the third time. She ended the call and dialled another number on her satellite phone.

‘Yes,' said the weary-sounding male voice.

‘It's Sonja.'

‘You've got a bloody nerve,' Sydney Chipchase said. ‘I've got half the bloody Namibian Police Force here with me now and they only just let me out of custody. They thought I was in on it, even though I tried my hardest to stop you.'

She heard voices around him in the background. ‘Can you talk now?'

‘Hang on.' After a few moments he said, ‘What do you want?'

‘Steele.'

‘You and everyone in this country – and Germany. News has just broken about the death of the nurse and her driver. He's going to be a marked man. I wouldn't want to be him when GSG-9 catches up with him.'