by Chris Ryan
Porter thrust out his hand. ‘I’ll try our handler. See if he can help.’
Tannon passed him the sat phone. He scrolled through the menu. Selected the number for Hawkridge that had been saved to the contact book, and hit Dial. Then he waited. After a pause the call patched through. Hawkridge picked up on the sixth ring.
‘John? Is that you?’ He sounded tired, and out of breath.
‘Aye,’ said Porter. ‘It’s me.’
‘You’re alive. Thank God.’ Three thousand miles away, Hawkridge sighed in relief. ‘Where are you?’
‘On the roof of the Ambassadors Hotel. We’ve been up here since first thing this morning. The rebels have been making repeated assaults on our position, trying to break through the lines to the hotel. Everything’s going tits up.’
‘I’m well aware of what’s happening,’ Hawkridge said irritably. ‘I’ve just been briefed on the developments, as a matter of fact. We’ve had numerous reports of fighting in your area. What’s your current situation?’
‘We’ve held the bastards off for the time being. But they’ve got reinforcements coming in. We’ve got eyes on them right now.’
‘What about Soames?’
‘He’s safe,’ Porter said. ‘Look, we don’t have much time. We’ve got a hundred-plus enemies converging on our position, plus technicals. With more arriving every minute. They’re gearing up to have another crack at us, and the next time they attack it’s gonna be serious. We need some help down here.’
‘The Sea Stallions will be en route to you shortly,’ said Hawkridge. ‘We’re hopeful they can reach you within the next two hours. Then we can begin the evacuation and get you chaps out of there. You’ll be on the first chopper. We’re just sorting out the details with the Americans now.’
Porter felt his neck muscles tense. ‘We don’t need transport helis. We need bloocly hardware. Someone who can come in and knock these fuckers on the head and send them packing.’
Hawkridge made a sound like a guy sucking juice out of a lemon. ‘That’s going to be difficult. We don’t have the local resources to provide air support ourselves. One Para will be in your area to retake the airport but they won’t be able to deploy until late this evening, I understand.’
‘That’s too late. What about the Yanks?’
‘I’ve already asked the question. Believe me. But the Americans aren’t especially keen to get involved in what they view as a domestic squabble. Neither is Downing Street, quite frankly. They don’t want it to look like we’re undermining President Fofana’s authority.’
Porter felt the blood boiling in his veins with anger. Here we are surrounded by rebel fighters, and no one wants to lift a finger to help out. The world is changing, Angela March had told him back at the mission briefing. The days of direct intervention are over. Men like Soames buy us power without putting boots on the ground.
‘You’re not hearing us,’ he said. ‘There are a thousand people trapped in here, and I’m telling you, the next time these fuckers attack it’s going to go bad. We’ve already slotted a fair few of them. When they break through they’ll be gagging for revenge. They’ll carve up everyone inside the hotel. Including Soames.’
‘You’ve managed to hold them off so far, haven’t you?’ Hawkridge said.
‘This is different. They’re not attacking us in small groups this time. They’re building up their forces for a major assault. We’re short on ammo and they’ve got the upper hand in terms of numbers and weapons. The next time the rebels attack us they’ll break through. You’ve got to get on the phone with the Yanks. Tell them the situation here is critical and we need air support.’
There was a long pause before Hawkridge answered.
‘I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t promise anything. This is a complicated situation, John. There are a lot of parties involved. A lot of parameters to consider. It isn’t simply a matter of making a call.’
‘I don’t give a toss,’ said Porter. ‘Do whatever it takes. If you don’t get some hardware down on our position in the next hour, you’re talking to a dead man. Along with everyone else in this hotel.’
NINETEEN
1226 hours.
Porter killed the call. He flipped down the antenna and handed the sat phone back to Tannon. As she reached for it a bottle of pills fell out of her jacket pocket and rolled across the ground, stopping next to Porter’s boot. One of the bottles he’d seen up in her hotel room. Tannon hurriedly scooped up the amber plastic bottle and shoved it back inside her jacket, ignoring Porter’s quizzical stare.
‘If you’re going to lecture me about the evils of prescription medicine, now really isn’t the best time,’ she said.
A shout went up from the other side of the parapet as Bald called out from his observation point overlooking the roundabout. Porter left Tannon with the sat phone and worked his way back across the rooftop, dropping down at the northern parapet. Bald was peering out through the binoculars at the Cape Road to the east.
‘What is it, mucker?’ Porter said. He could see a couple of dust trails in the distance, nothing more.
‘Take a look.’ Bald slid back from the wall and offered his binos to Porter. ‘More supply trucks, seven hundred metres away. North of the petrol station.’
Porter took the binos and concentrated his gaze at the point Bald had indicated. A hundred metres east of the roundabout he sighted a disused petrol station at the side of the road, its bare forecourt covered with weeds and broken glass. Porter shifted his line of sight to the road. Then he saw the pickups. There were four of them, bowling west down the road at a decent speed towards the roundabout, with a gap of four metres between one truck and the next. Each truck was loaded with stacks of ammo crates, Porter observed. At seven hundred metres the trucks were too far away for a clean shot with the SLRs. The palm trees on both sides of the road partially obscured the targets, stopping Bald from giving them a blast from the GPMG.
The four pickups hit the roundabout, swung north and disappeared around the back of the police station, six hundred metres north-east of the hotel. The supply vehicles were swiftly followed by a pair of old Toyota minibuses. Both were crammed full of rebels. Like Tube carriages at rush hour. There had to be at least thirty fighters in each bus, Porter figured. They followed the same route as the wagons, tooling north past the roundabout then turning left off the road. It pulled up out of sight, somewhere behind the police station.
Tully took in a sharp intake of breath. ‘Jesus. There must be a hundred of the fuckers down there now.’
‘They’re gearing up for something big,’ Porter said.
‘Looks like you were right, mate,’ said Bald. ‘The chogies have got someone in charge down there who knows what they’re doing.’ He spat on the ground. ‘Those Yanks better hurry the fuck up. Otherwise we’re shafted.’
The mood on the rooftop changed. There was a quiet tension in the air now. Which was understandable. When the first wave of rebels had poured forward, Porter had been reasonably confident in their ability to keep the enemy at bay. But now the odds had shifted.
He shoved aside the unease brewing in his guts, turned towards Tully, and pointed to the spot where the rebels were massing.
‘We need eyes on the main street. Two of you watch that fucking spot. Get the other Belgian lads to cover all sides of the hotel, in case the bastards try to flank us. If there’s movement to the left or right of the gathering point, we need to know about it.’
‘Roger that,’ Tully said. Then he moved off with Nilis to brief the other Belgians and set them up at each side of the rooftop.
Porter drew back from the parapet and passed the binoculars to Bald. ‘Keep eyes on the rebels. Watch for approaching vehicles. We need to know how many more of those bastards are forming up over there.’
Bald nodded. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To see if we can get someone to pull a few strings with the Americans.’
He pushed away from the parapet, moving past N
ilis and the four other Belgians. He stopped briefly beside Solomon. The man-mountain had finished linking together the rounds of 7.62mm brass through the two ammo belts. Porter nodded his approval at Solomon’s efforts and sent him back downstairs. Then he made his way over to Tannon. She was crouching beside the ventilator, craning her neck at the parapet. Her eyes quickly snapped to Porter as he approached. He could see the nervous strain written across her face.
‘What’s happening down there?’ she asked.
‘The rebels are forming up over at the police station. More than a hundred of them. Looks like they’re getting ready to have another pop at us.’
The colour drained from Tannon’s face. ‘How long can you hold them off?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied honestly. ‘We’re talking about a large force with heavy ordnance, and we’re down to the bare bones.’
Tannon took a deep breath and nodded. ‘What do you need me to do?’
‘You’re mates with Angela, right?’
‘Sure. We go way back. Angela and I joined the Foreign Office at the same time.’
‘Get on the phone to her. Tell her we need whatever hardware the Yanks have got, and we need it right this fucking instant. Gunships, fast air. Anything that can buy us some time until the evacuation team arrives.’
‘You’re asking me to bypass my boss.’
‘We’ve got no choice. We’ve tried our handler but he’s messing us about. We need someone who can cut through the noise. Make the Yanks understand there are lives at stake here.’
Tannon looked uncertain. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Angela knows some people over at Langley. She might be able to put a word in and get something done.’
Porter said, ‘Whatever strings you can pull with Angela, get them pulled. Tell her if we don’t get some gunships on our position very soon, there won’t be any guests left to evacuate.’
A brief flicker of alarm flashed in Tannon’s eyes. ‘What’ll happen if the rebels break through?’
Porter grabbed one of the Makarovs that Crowder and Bald had brought up to the roof. He pressed down on the heel release on the underside of the grip, slid out the mag and inspected the cut-out. There was a single round in the clip. He gently reinserted the clip, racked the slide back to chamber the round, then thumbed up the safety to the ‘on’ position and offered the weapon to Tannon grip-first. She stared at it like it was a live grenade.
‘What’s that for?’ Her voice had gone cold and flat and quiet.
‘There’s one round in the chamber,’ Porter said, tapping the side of the Makarov. ‘If the worst happens and the rebels take the hotel, you point the barrel at the roof of your mouth and pull the trigger.’
Tannon recoiled in shock. ‘You’re serious?’
Porter stared at her. ‘Deadly.’
She shook her head frantically. ‘There must be some other way out.’
‘There isn’t. This is your best bet. The rebels aren’t going to go easy on the guests. If they overrun us, you’re better off with a quick bullet to the head than letting those lunatics taking you alive.’
‘Why? What would they do to me?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
For the next forty minutes a continual flow of rebels streamed forward from the roundabout and amassed at the police station. By one o’clock in the afternoon another fifty rebels had reached the forming-up point. Every so often another supply truck skidded to a halt round the side of the station building to distribute more rockets and ammo to the assembled rebels. Bald and Porter took turns to OP the enemy through the binoculars, while Tully and the five Belgians prowled the other three sides of the rooftop, watching for any sign of enemy movement on the flanks. But the rebels were pooling all their efforts into reinforcing their position at the old police station. It was obvious to Porter they were planning to hit the defenders soon with a major frontal assault.
Whoever’s calling the shots down there has changed tactics, he thought. They’re not going to attack us in small groups like before. They’re playing a different game now. Putting their resources together for a coordinated attack.
The next time they hit us, we won’t stand a chance.
Bald said, ‘Any word on those gunships?’
Porter looked over at Tannon. Shrugged a question at her. She looked up from the sat phone, met his gaze and shook her head in frustration.
‘Nothing yet,’ Porter said, turning back to face the parapet.
‘Fuck’s sake.’ Bald shook his head bitterly. ‘What’s taking them so long? If the Yanks don’t come up with the goods soon, we won’t stand a chance against these scum.’
Porter said nothing. He checked his G-Shock again 1309. Forty-three minutes since he had put in the call to Hawkridge. Down at the police station, the number of rebels arriving at the gathering point had slowed to a trickle. Porter figured at least a hundred and fifty X-rays were now encamped behind the station building. A dead, hot stillness hung in the air. He could feel the nape of his neck burning under the sun’s intense rays. Everything was hot to touch. The concrete wall, the plastic water bottles, the trigger guard on the SLR. It had been more than six hours since the first assault on the hotel, and the action had started to take its toll on Porter. He felt physically shattered, and mentally drained. His muscles were aching and weary, the rifle felt twice as heavy in his grip now. He knew the guys on the roof wouldn’t be able to keep up the defence of the hotel for long once the enemy attacked.
Every so often he called out to Tannon, asking her for updates. But she had still heard nothing from her bosses or Angela. A bleak thought slowly began to pick away at the base of Porter’s skull.
The cavalry’s not going to get here in time.
The minutes ticked by. Another nine rebels scurried forward to the forming-up point. A battered old Nissan pulled up, carrying five more fighters. Then everything went quiet. No more enemies advanced from the direction of the roundabout. No more supply trucks arrived. Porter could hear nothing except the palm tree fronds shivering in the breeze, the thump of his heart beating erratically in his chest.
Bald’s voice broke the silence.
‘They’re on the move! Fifty X-rays. Heading west towards the plantation.’
Porter forced his tired body into action once more. He grabbed his rifle and crawled over to the north side of the parapet, centring the SLR sights on the banana trees four hundred metres away at his two o’clock. Dozens of shapes were sneaking forward from around the back of the police station now. They were approaching the banana plantation a hundred metres to the west of the forming-up point. At least twenty of the rebels were lugging RPGs, Porter observed. The remainder were equipped with assault rifles and he spotted a few mortars in there as well. It’s starting again, he thought as he watched the enemy advance.
They’re going to attack. And this time they’re going to hit us with everything they’ve got.
‘Get into position!’ he roared at the other defenders, waving them over. ‘Fucking move yourselves!’
Tully and four of the Belgians scrabbled over, taking up firing positions either side of Porter along the north-facing wall. Nilis formed up to his left, with Bald, Tully and two of the Belgians at his right. The other two shooters were left guarding the eastern side of the rooftop, watching for any enemies who might try to break off from the main group and outflank them. Bald set down the binos and inserted the last remaining belt of 7.62mm brass into the left-hand side of the feed tray on the GPMG. He ratcheted the cocking handle. Stared down the sights as another dozen rebels poured west from the back of the station building, joining their mates behind the treeline.
‘Here they come, guys,’ Nilis said. ‘Let’s fucking do this.’
He gave Bald the thumbs-up then went back to peering down the sights of his rifle. The Belgian didn’t look too worried, thought Porter. He sounds almost cheerful.
Porter cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted over at Tannon. ‘Anything?’
‘I
’m on hold. Someone’s trying to find Angela.’
‘Whoever it is, tell them to fucking hurry up and pull their finger out. We’re about to get hit here.’
He flicked the safety on the side of his weapon to semi-automatic, tensing his muscles as he trained his weapon on the banana plantation. Ready to fire as soon as the first target popped into view. The rebels had clearly absorbed the lessons of the earlier attacks and stayed behind cover. Porter could see a few brightly-coloured shapes flitting into view between the palm trees, their clothes visible amid the dense shade. He held fire, painfully aware of how little ammo they had. Then he saw a glimmer of movement at the left of his fire picture. He swung his sights across just in time to see a rocket fizzing out from the edge of the treeline.
Then another.
‘Incoming!’ he yelled.
The rockets struck the front of the hotel in a furious torrent. The first RPG round hit low, slamming into one of the upper floors with a juddering boom, pulverising glass and concrete. Two more rockets whizzed over the top of the parapet, missing the defenders by less than a metre. Everyone involuntarily ducked as three more RPGs burred overhead in a fury of noise and heat. One of the rockets slammed into the concrete base below the water tower in the middle of the rooftop, spewing out bright orange flames, the shock of the impact blowing off the tower’s corrugated steel roof. Acrid black smoke gushed across the rooftop, blocking out the sunlight and showering Porter with debris. He rubbed the dust out of his eyes, ignored the burning in his lungs and swung the SLR’s iron sights across to the left of the plantation, following the smoke trail.
Four X-rays with RPG-7s were visible in the hollow ground next to the banana trees. They were taking turns to fire rockets at the hotel, darting back into cover behind the trees to reload. Porter centred his sights on one guy in a kneeling firing stance, shouldering his RPG as he shaped to fire. He calmly centred the foresight on the man’s chest and fired twice. Both rounds hit their target, knocking the rebel off his feet. Like he’d been hit by a two-ton truck. Bald raked down two of the other guys with a burst from the gimpy. But a seemingly endless stream of rebels kept pouring forward from the trees to fire their rockets.
