Mercenary s-5

by Duncan Falconer

  The patrol leader pulled his perspiring horse to a halt in front of Hector and, a grave expression on his face, shook his head. ‘Sebastian is dead,’ he said.

  Hector had been prepared for that news but still it shocked him when he heard the words. The revolution had truly changed its course.

  ‘They’re being destroyed wholesale,’ the patrol leader continued. ‘No one will get out of there alive.’

  Despite everything that had come between Louisa and him, Hector’s heart felt as though it were going to break open. A cherished dream he had held close to his soul for years had vanished like a puff of smoke rising into the air.

  He eased his horse’s head around and walked the animal past his men, back towards his encampment.

  Stratton had watched Sebastian’s death from the high ground behind the stables. It had not come as a surprise after he’d seen the rebel leader ride away on his horse the way he had. But having just conversed with him, in a kind of way, it was a strange feeling to see him die so soon after.

  Stratton swiftly made his way down to the cabins and around to the front of the one used by Louisa.

  He pushed open the door and went inside. ‘Louisa!’ he called out.

  The place looked empty, as if it had been abandoned in a hurry. The table was covered in maps with drawings of troop locations and movements on them. When there was no answer Stratton hurried to the back room to find it empty too.

  He went back to the front door to look outside. A machine gun was firing from the other side of the courtyard. A couple of rebels were holding out behind the upturned log table as were others concealed elsewhere around the courtyard. Corpses lay all around.

  Bursts of fire from the patch of wood on the edge of the main encampment raked the wall of the cabin close to Stratton. He dropped to the ground, crawled a short distance, got to his feet and ran at the crouch to the cabin that he had shared with Victor.

  He ducked inside the door as another burst barely missed him. He fell back against the wall and looked around the room.

  Bodies both dead and alive littered the place. Wounded rebels sprawled on the table, floor and chairs, some of them conscious. Flies buzzed hungrily around the blood and soiled dressings. Most disturbing for Stratton, a group of women and children huddled on the floor at the far end, some staring at him while others hid their faces in fear.

  As he looked around his hopes of finding Louisa shrank. ‘Louisa!’ he called out again.

  The only reply was the sobs and moans of the injured.

  On the floor of the kitchen a woman dabbed the wounds of a rebel soldier who’d been caught in a mortar strike. His face and torso were covered in lacerations. Stratton moved to the woman but she appeared to be in a trance and did not notice him.

  ‘Where is Louisa?’ he asked.

  She did not respond. Stratton repeated the question, this time reaching out to touch her shoulder gently.

  She looked around at him, her eyes lifeless. ‘She was here,’ she said calmly, going back to her futile task.

  ‘How long ago?’ he asked.

  The woman shrugged, lost in her own world.

  Stratton went back to the front door and peered out at the machine-gunner across the courtyard who was firing short bursts. He felt a sense of foreboding, knowing that there was little time left for the remaining defenders.

  He crawled out of the doorway and scurried to the log table that was by now riddled with shrapnel and bullet holes. The two men at either end of it who were firing single aimed shots barely glanced at him, preoccupied by the need to keep killing in order to survive.

  Stratton gauged the distance to the sandbags and sprinted across the gap. His movement attracted some attention, bullets striking close by as he dived over the sandbag wall to hit the ground heavily.

  David glanced over his shoulder and gave his visitor a double take.

  Stratton was as surprised as the young rebel. ‘David?’

  The young man released his weapon and slumped down to grab a drink from a canteen. He was exhausted, his body covered in dust, but he managed a brief smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You okay?’ Stratton asked, looking him over.

  ‘No one is,’ David said, putting down his canteen and turning back to the machine gun.

  Several more rounds struck near Stratton and he looked in the direction of fire to see two Neravistas running towards the end cabin. He shouldered his AK to engage them but David traversed the M60 and released a quick burst before Stratton could fire. In quick succession the men crumpled to the ground and did not move.

  Stratton was impressed. ‘Nice shooting.’

  The young man ducked down as a bullet flew past his head.

  ‘Have you seen Louisa?’

  ‘She’s gone to the cliffs.’

  Stratton’s first reaction was relief that she was alive, or had been when David last saw her. ‘When?’

  ‘Not long ago,’ David said, unable to think how long it actually had been. It felt like seconds. ‘She went to the stables.’

  ‘Before or after Sebastian died?’

  ‘After.’ He could remember that much.

  Stratton looked in that direction, frustrated at how little time they must have missed each other by.

  As David started to open a new box of ammunition Stratton put his hand on it. ‘It’s time to go, my friend.’

  ‘I can’t,’ David said, pushing his hand away and pulling out another ammo belt. ‘I have to stay with my gun,’ He clipped the link to the short length sticking out of the gun tray.

  Stratton took hold of his arm. ‘You love it so much, bring it with you. I’ll carry the ammo. You’ve done all you can here, David. It’s time to fall back.’

  David could not resist Stratton’s offer. The brief exchange had brought him a little way out of his murderous trance. He nodded and grabbed up the weapon, folded the legs away and threw the remaining ammo belt over one shoulder and a canvas bag over the other.

  Stratton poked his head round the side of the sandbags and cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘You men! Listen! We’re falling back to the stables! Fall back to the stables!’

  The remaining handful of rebels appeared to have understood.

  ‘I’ll cover you,’ Stratton said, placing his weapon against his shoulder. ‘Go! Go! Go!’ he yelled as he raised his head above the top of the sandbag wall and fired quick bursts at the various enemy positions.

  David ran for all he was worth out through the gap and up the track towards the stables. The other rebels left their positions and fired as they ran. One took a bullet through the chest and died before he hit the ground. Another was shot in the back and fell but continued to crawl forward.

  Stratton emptied his AK47’s magazine, ejected it, reloaded and fired another series of bursts. As the last unwounded rebel tore past him he reloaded, fired again, leapt the sandbags and charged up the slope.

  Bullets traced their footsteps, zinging through the air. One of the rebels went down and did not move again. A bullet grazed David’s leg and he winced. Stratton grabbed his arm and dragged him on.

  The two rebels manning the defensive position at the top of the track saw their comrades emerge from the thin smoke and put down covering fire beyond them.

  Stratton and David, out of breath, fell behind the sandbagged position. But there was not a second to spare - David got to his knees and set up his machine gun ready to fire.

  Stratton inspected David’s wound, tearing the cloth of his trouser leg to get a better look at it. ‘How’s it going, lads?’ he asked the two rebels who looked not much more than sixteen years old. ‘It’s a busy fight, eh?’

  The loader nodded and ripped open an ammunition box as his partner fired several bursts towards the courtyard.

  David’s wound was not deep but it was bloody. Stratton took his field dressing from the machine-gun butt where it was taped and wrapped it around the wound. ‘You’ll live,’ he said, squeezing David’s shoulder.
‘I’ll be back,’ he promised, picking up his weapon and hurrying away.

  Stratton reached the corral fence and crouched to look around. He set off again, following the outside of the fence around to the other side, putting him closer to the top of the hill. He dropped to his belly and craned to look down the slope towards the cliffs in the hope of seeing Louisa. There was a lot of open ground but he found her and knew that he would never catch her up. She was riding her horse, and going like the wind.

  Yet instant relief flooded through him on seeing her alive. Even though she was far from safe Stratton could not help grinning. All he wanted now was to be with her and to take her to safety.

  It suddenly occurred to him that if Louisa could do it, then so could he, and he ran to the stables and down the line of stalls. All of them were open and visibly empty except for the last, whose door was closed. He pushed it open, praying that a horse would be inside. No such luck. All he saw was his own pack and parachute hanging on a hook where David had put them the previous morning.

  Stratton ran back to the corral. He scanned along the edge of the cliff. Even if Louisa had been standing and waving she would have been difficult to spot at that distance. Finally he saw the horse trotting along the cliff edge, but without its rider. He felt a sudden panic that she had been shot and had fallen off it. Yet since the horse was at the cliff he reassured himself that she had most likely dismounted and was now at one of the rope bundles.

  As he strained to get a better look a burst of fire raked the fence close by and he dived to the ground. He rolled away to look for the source of the shooting and found it. Several Neravistas were running across the open ground from the far perimeter in a flanking attack. Stratton brought his gun up to his shoulder but most of the attackers were cut down by firing from the defensive position on the other side of the stables.

  ‘Stratton!’ David called out from the other defensive position.

  Stratton raised his head enough to see him.

  ‘They’ve taken the cabins!’ David shouted.

  Stratton looked quickly for Louisa again and considered making a run for it down the slope. He looked over at David and the others. They needed to get away before their position was overrun. This was now about their escape as well as Louisa’s. Maybe there was a way of combining the two, Stratton thought.

  A group of horsemen in the far distance beyond the tented camp caught his eye. They could only be Neravistas and they seemed to be heading around the inside of the perimeter. If they continued on that route they would move around the outside of the smoulder - ing shanty-town encampment, down a finger of jungle and eventually to the cliff before heading up to the stables. If they stuck close to the cliff edge they might find Louisa.

  Stratton looked again towards the cliff, this time trying to spot the rope bundles. He thought he saw movement by one of them. It had to be Louisa. It would take a while to lower enough rope to reach the bottom in order to climb down, time that she might not have.

  Stratton had seen enough. He needed to get down there as soon as possible.

  The machine gun on the far side of the stables opened up with a sustained burst of fire. They were under attack again.

  A mortar shell exploded on the other side of the corral. The two M60s at David’s position started firing towards the cabins.

  An explosion at the furthest defensive machine-gun position silenced the gun. Single shots followed and Stratton knew they signalled an attack at that location.

  He hurried to the stables, holding his rifle ready to fire. A Neravista appeared in the open field and Stratton dropped him with a single shot. Smoke rose from the sandbags of the furthest M60 position and the two rebels who had manned it lay dead across their defences.

  A bullet struck the side of the stables and Stratton fired as he moved, killing two Neravistas coming across the open ground from the perimeter. He jumped behind the M60 and tried to get it firing again but it had been critically damaged.

  More bullets whined around Stratton. He took up his rifle and shot one charging Neravista after another. Aware that he was running out of ammunition, he pulled another magazine from his pouch as he fired. When the clunk that signalled he was out of bullets came he deftly pressed the catch that released the magazine and pushed in a new one.

  Sudden screams came from off to one side and he looked to see two Neravistas charging towards him, their bayonets pointing right at him.

  Stratton fired, hitting one, but then his weapon jammed. As he stepped back to parry the inevitable bayonet thrust arrows flew into the attacker’s neck and side and he dropped onto the sandbags, writhing in agony. A volley of rifle fire aimed at the Neravistas’ flanking attack broke it and drove them back.

  Victor, the Indians and a dozen rebels were tearing across the open ground towards Stratton. They reached the building and quickly deployed to defensive positions.

  The Frenchman was out of breath but he managed a grin as he huddled down at the side of the building. ‘Now I get to save your ass,’ he said, clearly pleased with himself.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Stratton asked as he cleared his jammed weapon.

  ‘I couldn’t leave you here alone.’

  Stratton stared at Victor, unsure of his sincerity.

  Victor shrugged. ‘Plus hundreds more Neravistas moved in to cover the perimeter. I don’t think they want anyone to get out of here alive.’

  ‘Don’t get too settled. You have more running to do . . . David!’ Stratton called out, heading to the other side of the building.

  A mortar shell landed close by and everyone hit the dirt as shrapnel splattered around. One of the rebels dropped to the ground, holding his face as blood flowed through his fingers. Someone went to help him.

  ‘They’re preparing to attack!’ David shouted back.

  Machine-gun fire came up the slope, raking the defensive position. Stratton hurried, crouching, to the corner to take a look for himself.

  Victor followed. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I think the cliffs may be our only way out of here,’ Stratton said. ‘But if we just try and run for it these guys’ll cut us down before we get there.’

  ‘Is this another one of those plans where you know the aim but not how to get there?’ Victor asked.

  ‘Yeah, one of those,’ Stratton agreed.

  ‘I’m beginning to hate that kind of plan.’

  David handed his canvas bag to one of the young rebels and pointed to Stratton. He fired a burst from his machine gun to cover the man as he sprinted across the gap. The other gunner did the same. The young rebel slid to the ground beside Stratton and handed him the bag.

  Stratton looked inside. It contained two claymore mines with all their accessories. His mind raced at the possibilities. ‘This is good,’ he muttered, emptying the bag and sorting through the extras that included the standard trip wires and trigger devices.

  After a brief survey of the terrain he unwound part of a wire spool and fixed the end to the corner of the building low to the ground. ‘Stay here,’ he said to Victor as he put the contents back into the canvas bag. ‘Don’t let anyone touch the wire,’ he ordered, placing the spool over the end of his gun barrel and setting off towards David’s position, the spool unwinding as he ran.

  Stratton flung himself down beside David and the other gunner and set about preparing the claymore. ‘Both of you get ready to move to the high ground at the other side of the corral.’

  ‘What are we doing?’ David asked as he fired bursts from his machine gun.

  ‘Running as fast as we can. I suggest you get yourself a lighter gun,’ Stratton advised as he screwed the detonator into the mine. He put a hand on the shoulder of the other gunner, who turned to look at him. ‘I want you to clip as many ammo belts together as you can.’

  The young gunner looked at David.

  ‘Do it,’ David ordered and the young rebel quickly set about the task.

  ‘Give me a burst,’ Stratton requested and D
avid obliged.

  While David fired, Stratton leaned over the front of the sandbags and, holding the mine, pushed the forks that protruded from its base firmly into the ground. It took him several tense seconds to ensure the device was properly wired before he dropped back behind the sandbags.

  ‘How many have you done?’ he asked the young rebel who was clipping ammo belts together and laying them in loops so that they could feed the M60 easily.

  ‘Five, six hundred rounds.’

  ‘That’s good. Join your friend. And keep away from the wire. Go!’

  The rebel ran across the gap to the stables. Stratton prepared the second claymore and when it was ready gathered himself for another sprint. ‘Keep their heads down for another minute.’

  David obeyed as Stratton pushed off to the corral fence and round to the far side of it. He knelt down and, aiming the mine at the top of the hill, he shoved the forks into the ground and rested the spool of wire beside it. ‘Victor,’ he shouted. ‘Here!’

  Victor ran over to him from the stables.

  ‘Look down there,’ Stratton said, pointing towards the cliffs.

  Victor looked where Stratton was pointing as he gulped in some air. Just as he did so a mortar shell landed nearby and they hugged the ground as they were showered in dirt.

  ‘Louisa’s down there,’ Stratton continued, spitting dirt from his mouth. ‘That’s where you’re going. A dozen or so riders are heading that way and you’re going to take them out. If you can get their horses you might be able to punch your way through the perimeter.’

  ‘I see,’ Victor said, trying to evaluate all the possibilities and dangers. ‘Sebastian?’ he asked, suddenly wondering where his leader was.

  Stratton shook his head. ‘It’s your only hope,’ Stratton said. ‘Stay spread out on your way down, keep shooting and moving and you’ll get there.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m going to buy you the time.’

  ‘You’re going to stay here so we can escape? You’ll die.’

  ‘I’ll give you the start you need . . . But I’ll still beat you to the bottom.’

  ‘How long a start?’