Hyena Dawn

by Christopher Sherlock

  ‘I’m sorry, Rayne, I didn’t mean it, really I didn’t. When you left without saying anything, it was one of the worst moments of my life.’

  Quickly he told her about the mission to stop Vorotnikov’s invasion, how he’d discovered that she was in Beira and how he’d been searching for her.

  ‘But how could you hope to stop the whole invasion, just the two of you?’

  ‘There are twenty of us, all hand-picked mercenaries with a precise plan of action. I can assure you that the invasion will never take place.’ She could see from the expression on his face that he meant what he was saying.

  ‘We meet on equal ground then, Rayne. Tongogara rescued me from Vorotnikov - and he too decided to play his part in preventing the Salisbury massacre.’

  Rayne felt jealousy stirring in his heart for this man who had spent so much time with the woman he loved. He wondered how far their relationship had gone. Then he hated himself for thinking that way.

  ‘And how did you, one black man and one white woman, propose to stop the invasion?’

  ‘We’ve already done it.’

  ‘You blew up the fuel tanks?’

  ‘Yes. We thought you must be Russian soldiers trying to track us down.’ She stared at him intensely. ‘I thought you were going to kill us - you know how you automatically expect the worst. It was as if we had made all that effort, and then some divine force had decided to show us how futile it all was.’

  ‘You and Tongogara must fly out with us. We’re not going back to South Africa, but up to the north. From there he’ll be able to go anywhere he wants.’

  He could see that she looked sad, as if she was tearing herself away from something very important.

  ‘I’ll come, but I know he’ll stay here. I’ve already asked him a thousand times to get away. You see, he can’t, he belongs here. You can’t imagine what it took him to blow up the fuel supply depot. He’s betrayed his own people.’

  Rayne wondered if John Fry would ever believe that he had not been responsible for the destruction of the fuel supply depot. Somehow he doubted it. But then he didn’t really care. In his own mind he could see absolutely no logic in Fry’s insistence that the fuel tanks should remain intact. When they got out, he would make sure Fry gave him some answers.

  ‘We must move on, Sam, time is running out. I don’t even know whether we’re going to make it out of here alive.’

  He turned to walk back to the jeep, but she called after him. ‘Rayne?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I just want you to know that I love you more than any man I’ve ever known.’

  ‘I feel the same way about you, Sam. I promise you that if we make it through this, I won’t leave you again.’

  She smiled at him and together they ran back to the jeep.

  Guy jumped into the driver’s seat and Sam sat next to him. Tongogara and Rayne leapt in the back, submachine-guns at the ready. They pulled away quickly and bounced along the track back towards the dirt road. Every time they hit a puddle they were showered with red mud, and by the time they got back to the main road they were soaking wet.

  It was hard to see anything in the poor light and the pouring rain, but they didn’t have time to take it easy - they had to make it to the collection area before it became pitch dark. Guy pushed the engine grudgingly up to maximum revs and wrestled with the steering wheel as the vehicle drifted from one side of the road to the other. All his energy was spent in trying to keep them on a straight course. When they ran into the ambush they scarcely knew what was happening . . .

  The rocket hit the jeep square in the side and lifted it up and over like a playing card dancing in the wind. After that came a withering hail of gunfire that ricocheted off the vehicle’s metal sides. One bullet caught the petrol tank and the jeep erupted in flames. Still the bullets hammered into it, though it was clear that nothing could survive the fire.

  One of the attackers got up and moved tentatively forward. The rest followed, looking for the bodies that must have been thrown clear by the explosion. They had almost reached the jeep when a burst of machine-gun fire cut them to pieces. Not a man survived, though one soldier did stagger backwards for a few metres before falling riddled with bullets.

  Guy dropped the still smoking machine-gun into the sand at the side of the road. He looked up to find everything was red. There seemed to be no explanation for this and he felt a great weariness overtake him. He had been thrown clear of the jeep and landed hard on his legs. Both his main femurs were broken and his combat trousers were a mass of blood. He tried to crawl forwards, but collapsed.

  Guy remembered once when he was a little boy on the streets and had stolen a man’s wallet. The man had chased after him and eventually caught him by the scruff of the neck. Guy had shaken with the fear. The man had smiled kindly at him, taken the wallet back, then pulled all the money out and given it to him. Guy tried to hold onto the memory of the man’s face, but it began to recede, and he felt as if he was travelling down a long tunnel. At the end was a light that seemed to beckon to him and he knew that was where he had to go.

  As Rayne came round, all he could hear was crying. He could see Tongogara in the distance, armed and scouting the area.

  He pulled himself up and was relieved to discover he hadn’t broken any bones. The crying sound was louder now, and he saw that it was coming from near the charred wreck of the jeep.

  Slowly he moved towards it and saw that Sam was crouched over a body lying next to the side of the road. She was holding the head in her hands and he could see that the rest of the body was soaked with blood.

  To his horror he realised that it was Guy. He ran forward, thinking that he must still be alive, and Sam turned to look at him, her face contorted with anguish. He could hardly bear to look at her.

  ‘He’s dead, can’t you see he’s dead? Damn you, Rayne!’

  Rayne felt a strong arm on his shoulder, pulling him away, and he yielded to the pressure. He turned round to see Tongogara, a muddy apparition in the falling rain.

  ‘Leave her. She’s had enough.’

  They both walked over to the area where the blast had come from and found the rocket-launcher lying in a pool of muddy water. Behind them in the bush was a small truck with the keys still in the ignition. Tongogara got into the cabin and started up the engine. Then he carefully reversed the vehicle out onto the road.

  Tongogara’s whole body was still shaking from the force of the impact with which he had hit the dirt road, after the blast had thrown him clear of the jeep. Too stunned to move, he had watched terrified as the armed troops moved towards him; then he had seen them cut to pieces by Guy before he died.

  Rayne joined Tongogara in the cab and looked at the black man’s watch. It was getting late.

  John Fry had certainly got his money’s worth. Three out of the four of them dead. Rayne wondered if the casualty rate at the airport had been as bad. This was a suicide mission if ever there was one.

  Tongogara was the first to speak. ‘We can’t go far in this truck, it is too obvious a target. I must go on foot now.’

  ‘Come with us, there’s a plane waiting. You can go anywhere in the world you want to.’

  ‘There is nowhere in the world that I want to go. My future is here.’

  Rayne looked out of the windscreen and along the road that was strewn with dead bodies. Tongogara said, ‘I know what you’re thinking. I think it too. Death. I don’t want the slaughter to carry on, I am sick of the waste. Perhaps by staying I can do a little to stop it. But you must take her away from this; she has been through too much. Take care of her.’

  They shook hands, and Rayne watched Tongogara go down the road to Sam and pull her away from Guy’s body. He kissed her on the cheek, then lifted Guy’s body in his massive arms and disappeared with it into the bush. He did not return.

  Sam got into the truck beside Rayne. She was silent. He could feel his heart beating; he sensed that there was a deep bond between Tongogara and Sam, and h
e had to fight to keep his jealousy under control. After all, he was the one who had left Sam behind.

  He pulled away and turned the truck round quickly. There was no sign of Tongogara any longer, and the place seemed lonely and empty. He pushed the vehicle as hard as it would go. Not much further, and they would reach the place where Lois had hidden the scrambler. Sam moved across the seat and held herself close to him, guilty after her earlier outburst.

  ‘He was a good man, that Frenchman, I could tell. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

  ‘Will Tongogara be all right?’

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’s like an animal in the bush, they’ll never find him.’

  ‘In a minute we’re going to stop. We can’t carry on in this truck, there’s too much distance to cover in such a conspicuous vehicle. Can you handle a ride on the back of a motorbike?’

  He slowed down, looking carefully for the place that Lois had shown him earlier in the week. It wasn’t easy to find in the half- light and the pouring rain, and he had to get out of the cab and survey the side of the road before he eventually found the hiding place.

  The bike was covered in mud, but the pouring rain quickly washed it clean. Rayne got back into the truck with Sam and drove it off the road, far enough into the bush to keep it hidden.

  It took him some time to kick-start the bike into life. He handed Sam the Uzi machine-carbine he’d been carrying, and showed her the exact firing sequence. ‘Don’t hesitate to use it. We won’t get a second chance.’

  The bike started noisily and Sam jumped onto the back, holding the gun in her right hand and Rayne with her left. Then they were off, flying over the muddy ground at a speed that made Sam keep her eyes closed for the first few minutes.

  ‘Just hold on tight, and whenever I move to one side you follow suit.’

  Rayne had to shout these instructions at the top of his voice because the machine was screaming along at maximum revs. His arms ached as he struggled to keep the bike from sliding over in the thick mud. The ambush had proved that the enemy forces had rallied and were taking counter-action, so at every bend he scanned the road ahead to see if there were any signs of another. At least on the bike they would not be so vulnerable because they were a smaller target moving much faster. He felt the wad of paper pressing against his shirt, and was glad that he still had the incriminating document of Bernard Aschaar’s that he’d taken from the bank.

  He turned to the left and accelerated down another, less frequented dirt road. The map that he and Michael Strong had studied for so long was engraved on his memory.

  It had taken quite a bit of research to discover that there had once been a second airport near Beira. Up to the end of the Second World War it had been used by the RAF as part of their navigation training programme, but after that it had fallen into disuse, and independence had finally killed it off. Rayne antici­pated that they might have to clear the runway in some places, but that shouldn’t be a major problem. He estimated that they were now less than five minutes away, and began to wonder if Michael Strong was there already.

  Captain Balashov dialled General Vorotnikov’s private number. To his surprise the phone was answered by General Vorotnikov himself. He sounded furious.

  ‘Yes, yes. What the hell is it?’

  ‘Captain Balashov, sir. First-in-command, Beira Airport. We are under full-scale attack. All planes destroyed, runway destroyed. Enemy is closing in and firing from all sides . . .’

  ‘Is Aschaar there?’

  This seemed a stupid and irrelevant question to Balashov but he answered it all the same.

  ‘He took off before the attack started, sir. The enemy rocketed his plane, but it didn’t come down. He’s making for Nairobi.’

  To his astonishment Balashov heard the General cursing. He would have thought that at least the news about Aschaar was good.

  ‘Take counter-action immediately, Balashov.’

  ‘But that’s suicidal, sir!’

  ‘Take counter-action, Balashov, or consider yourself stripped of command and under arrest from this minute.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  He put the phone down and staggered outside. There were men running in all directions. He saw one man on fire, screaming his head off, and he pulled out his pistol and cut the man down. Immediately he was the centre of attention. The men looked at him fearfully.

  ‘Get together. Load your rifles. We have to counter-attack.’

  One of the men started to protest, but Balashov lifted his pistol and the complaint was dropped. He scanned the frightened men around him, searching for any other backsliders. He wondered if this was what it had been like in the First World War before the men crossed over the tops of the trenches to almost certain death.

  ‘We will fan out and then advance, is that understood?’ There was a dutiful murmur of acknowledgement.

  ‘Forward!’

  They moved out beyond the flames and began to advance slowly.

  Michael Strong couldn’t believe his eyes. He had never seen anything so stupid in his whole life. It must be the same man who had removed the perimeter guards.

  He gestured to the men either side of him to hold their fire. Then he quietly murmured his orders.

  ‘Let’s not make this a massacre. Single shots only, please. Aim carefully. Maybe if we bring a few of the buggers down, the others will go home.’

  The figures continued to advance. Silhouetted against the flames, they made perfect targets. Michael was still counting on their nerve breaking, but nothing of the kind happened. Reluc­tantly he picked up his rifle and aimed for the leading man.

  Captain Balashov had never been so scared in his life. The firing had stopped and he couldn’t see the enemy. He got the disturbing feeling that he was being watched.

  Perhaps the attacking force had left. The lack of return fire seemed to confirm this. Now that he and his men were almost away from the smoke and flames, he could see a little better through the drizzle - the shots erupted without warning. Three men directly in front of him were cut down and he felt a bullet fly past. There was a sickening thud as it found the man next to him.

  He turned to look behind and a bullet tore into his right shoulder. His nerve broke, and he started to run back. Some of his men did not notice this and pressed forward to their deaths, but the rest followed their commanding officer, sprinting back towards the flames.

  Balashov was breathing heavily. He’d had a foretaste of death, and that was as far as he wanted it to go. He knew there was no point in phoning General Vorotnikov, the man was crazy and would order him to remain at his post till death.

  ‘Get the trucks!’ he shouted. ‘We must abandon the airport.’

  The men looked at him dumbfounded. Balashov was a fool, moving from one ridiculous tactic to the next.

  ‘Get the trucks!’

  Balashov’s voice was now a high-pitched scream, and this time the men didn’t wait to find out if he would reinforce his orders with his pistol. The V-8 engines of the three GAZ trucks idled noisily as some three hundred and fifty troops and pilots climbed onto them. Balashov jumped into the cab of the leading truck and gave the order to pull off. In a matter of minutes the air base was completely deserted.

  The moment the trucks had disappeared, Michael Strong and his men entered the base and started systematically destroying what was left of it. Michael was busy pouring petrol over the floor in the room below the shattered control tower when the phone rang. He picked it up and answered in the politest English.

  ‘Good afternoon, Beira airforce base.’

  General Vorotnikov was on the other end of the line. He could not believe Balashov’s impertinence and let forth a stream of Russian invective.

  ‘I’m sorry, old boy, but I don’t understand your language.’

  Vorotnikov switched to English. He would have the man sorted out later. ‘Have you made the attack, Balashov?’

  ‘Balashov and his men have left. I am now destroying what
is left of your base. Have a nice day.’

  Bunty Mulbarton looked down at his watch. They were running out of time. He’d been expecting some sort of Russian relief force to come along the road, but none had appeared. Now to his astonishment he saw a vast convoy of trucks speeding towards him.

  Bunty smiled to himself. Michael would be pleased. They had obviously abandoned the airport in a hurry. The first truck was ahead of the others, but fortunately they were all travelling close enough together for his charges to have maximum effect. His hand moved to the electric detonator and pressed the activator switch. Now he had merely to touch the red button on top of the unit to set off the explosive charges hidden beneath the road.

  Balashov was beginning to feel quite jubilant. He had, after all, evaded being captured by superior enemy forces. Now they could regroup and counter-attack in the morning. He could confidently tell Vorotnikov that they had tried to attack the enemy and had been mowed down by withering crossfire. There was no way he or his men could have remained at the airport, they would have been mercilessly destroyed by the enemy.

  Balashov urged the driver to go faster, anxious to get as far away from the airport as possible. He sweated as he remembered that he had given the order to reduce the number of perimeter guards. Perhaps that order would be forgotten after the after­noon’s chaos. He was not so sure that he would come out of a commission of enquiry looking particularly competent.

  They rounded a very sharp corner, slowing down considerably.

  There was a muffled explosion and the truck was thrown slightly off course.

  Balashov looked around worriedly and then turned to the driver.

  ‘Get out of here. As fast as you can!’

  Bunty Mulbarton shivered, the charges had obviously been deactivated by the heavy rainfall.

  There was a noise behind him and he swung round. Ted Donel jumped down from the bank above and landed squarely on the ground next to him.