by Chris Ryan
‘What about a strip?’
‘Right in front of it.’
‘Fuel?’
‘Should be plenty.’
‘Can we go and look at it?’
‘Sure. Come on.’
He led us to the end of the shed, took a cautious scan round the corner, and set out across the open ground beyond. The moon was already well across the sky. As I looked up at the stars, it seemed incredible that only twenty-four hours earlier our whole team had been driving though the dark. It felt like a month ago.
In three or four minutes we came to a perimeter fence, weldmesh on steel posts. As Sam had said, it was full of holes, and we found one easily enough. Behind us the camp lay silent, but out in the bush hyenas were howling. Walking was hard work for me; I was bruised all over, and my legs hurt when I moved them.
Soon, another large shed showed up ahead of us, black against the sky.
‘This is the hangar,’ Sam whispered. ‘Wait here while I check it out.’
Gen and I knelt down. Being so used to carrying weapons, I felt defenceless and vulnerable, lacking even a knife. Without thinking, I raised my left wrist to look at my watch, remembering too late that it had gone. I glanced behind us, trying to estimate how far we’d come from the main part of the camp. Half a mile, anyway.
Presently, Sam loomed up out of the dark, and announced, ‘All clear.’
The shed was open-fronted. Just inside it, with its perspex bubble of a canopy glinting in the moonlight, stood a very basic-looking aircraft.
‘Jesus!’ I went. ‘This is all right. You have a torch?’
‘Sure.’ He handed one over.
‘I’m going to have a quick look over it. Keep an eye out while I switch the torch on.’
‘Keep it short, then. Just point it away from the camp.’
I ran the beam quickly over the little plane. It wasn’t any make I recognised, but it looked much the same as other small aircraft I’d flown.
‘Only two seats,’ said Gen.
‘Don’t worry. Sam can sit on your lap. We’ll squeeze him in somehow.’
‘Will it take off with that weight?’
‘Should do.’
A quick inspection showed the plane had a nose-wheel and two main wheels, an ignition switch but no electric start – just a hand-pull on the side of the engine – and a squeeze-ball pump for priming the carburettors.
‘Think you can hack it?’ Genesis asked.
‘Try it, anyway.’
I doused the torch, eased myself into the left-hand seat and felt the controls: accelerator arm, joystick, pedals, handbrake. Everything moved freely. I shone the torch on the transparent tube that served as a fuel gauge. The level was fairly low; it looked as though there were only twenty or twenty-five litres in the tank.
‘We could do with more gas,’ I said. ‘Is there any around?’
‘In the back.’ Sam pointed into the depths of the shed. But there, for the first time, he was wrong. The day before, he said, two forty-five-gallon drums had been standing in the corner. Now they’d gone.
‘Too bad,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.’ I looked back towards the camp, calculating our chances. ‘It’s too dark to take off at the moment. If anything went wrong with the engine, we’d kill ourselves trying to land. Our only chance is to wait until dawn’s about to break.’
‘If we wait till it starts getting light, chances are someone will spot us,’ said Sam.
‘I know. But it’s a risk we’ve got to take.’
Because I was the only one of us who could fly, I was taking charge of the situation. But I didn’t want to put the American down, so I added, ‘If it’s light, and something does happen once we’re in the air, at least we’ll have a chance of getting down again. Okay, Sam?’
‘I’m in your hands, skipper.’
‘That’s the plan, then. What we can do meanwhile is push the thing further away from the camp, give ourselves that much more of a start, and keep the noise at a distance. How long’s the strip?’
‘Maybe five hundred yards.’
‘Better check it out. We’ll need to take off westwards. I don’t fancy flying back over the camp. Step it out to the far end, Gen.’
‘Fine. What do you need for take-off?’
‘Two fifty yards. Two hundred at a pinch. As there’s no wind, and we’ll have a heavy load, two fifty would be better.’
As Genesis set out, taking long strides, I let off the hand brake, and the two of us rolled the little aircraft forward. It trundled easily, making hardly a sound. I reckoned we’d pushed it nearly two hundred metres when we made out a dark figure coming back towards us.
‘Three hundred paces more beyond here,’ Gen said quietly.
‘This’ll do, then. What is there at the far end?’
‘Nothing. The ground just gets rough.’
More than anything else, I wanted to see if the engine would start. But I knew that the moment it fired, we’d probably be compromised: the noise would be almost bound to give us away. So all I could do was show Sam the hand-pull on the side of the engine.
‘It’s just like a lawn-mower,’ I told him. ‘All you need do is pull when I say, and keep pulling until she fires.’
‘We need a contingency plan,’ Gen said. ‘Supposing we can’t start it? What do we do then?’
‘Head north from here on foot, and keep going,’ Sam replied, pointing. ‘Right out there. There’s nothing to stop us. We’re already through the wire.’
‘You got a GPS?’
‘Sure.’ He patted his chest pocket.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Good. How’s the time?’
He glanced at his watch, and replied, ‘Twenty after four.’
‘What time’s first light?’
‘First light around here is twenty after five. Sunrise a quarter of six.’
‘An hour to go, then. What about the guard on the cell? Won’t someone miss him?’
‘His relief won’t come on till six o’clock. Then he’ll find his mate’s disappeared, along with the keys. Probably he’ll think he’s gone to sleep someplace. By then we’ll be up and gone.’
‘Touch wood.’
The tension was electric, but somehow we had to pass the time. We sat on the ground under the wing of the aircraft and chatted in quick, nervous whispers.
‘The guy they killed,’ Sam said. ‘Good buddy of yours, was he?’
‘More than that. We’d served together for fifteen years – Russia, Ulster, Colombia, everywhere.’
I began thinking about Whinger’s family. His mother was dead, but his father was still alive. If I got back, it would be down to me to go and tell him what had happened. I might never reveal exactly what they’d done to him; it would be bad enough without going into details. That unpleasant task was in the future, though. Our first priority was to get ourselves out. Had the lads got the satcom up and running? Was a Herc on its way to lift us out?
My mind kept returning to our flight. The last time I’d flown was eighteen months ago, when we’d done some pilot training with the Army Air Corps. Luckily for me, the Regiment had had a ridiculous idea that they wanted to train guys to fly, but nothing came of it, because at the end of the course one of the lads wrecked an aircraft. Now in my mind I ran through some standard drills.
‘Sam,’ I said, ‘those hills to the north. D’you know how high they are?’
‘The Makonde Hills? In the day you can see ’em in the distance. How high? Nothing great. Six, seven hundred feet. Why?’
‘I was thinking. We’re going to burn a load of fuel clearing them. It’s a question of how much we have left after that.’
I borrowed his torch again for another check of the fuel gauge. It had no calibration, just the curved, transparent pipe, so judging the supply was a matter of guesswork. By wishful thinking, I confirmed my original estimate of between twenty and twenty-five litres. Five gallons to lift us to freedom.
At about 0440 I suddenly
felt ravenous and cracked into one of the ready-to-eat meals. My lip hurt as I took each mouthful, but never had cold, congealed corned-beef hash tasted so good. Genesis wasn’t so lucky: his foil pack contained spaghetti bolognese, which he said tasted like wallpaper glue, but he got it down his neck all the same.
Feeling revived, I asked, ‘Sam, were you in the Gulf?’
‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘SEAL Team Six, in the Western Desert.’
‘Never!’ I exclaimed. ‘That was our location, too. Deployed from Al Jouf? Amazing! What were you on?’
‘Air-sea rescue. Picking up downed aircrew.’
‘Some hairy trips, I bet.’
‘You said it. Had one near-miss from a SAM. Twice we nearly didn’t make it out.’
‘Ninety-one,’ I said, trying to remember a name. ‘Did you ever meet a guy called Tony Lopez?’
‘Sure did! Hell of a guy, Tony. I spent some time with him in Panama. He a pal of yours?’
‘Absolutely. He gave us a big hand in Colombia. Then he came over to the UK on attachment, and stopped a bullet at Chequers, of all places.’
‘Chequers?’
‘The Prime Minister’s country home.’
‘No kidding?’
‘Right there, in the park.’
‘What in hell were you doing?’
‘Tangling with the IRA.’
‘Oh, those choirboys.’
After a short silence, Genesis asked, ‘How many of you guys are there here?’
‘Mercs? Twelve. Only one American, though. Me! The rest are hairy-assed South Africans. Supposed to be some Russians coming in, too.’
‘So what’s your brief?’
‘Good question. They hired us to help fight the war against the north, but in the past couple of days that campaign’s pretty much taken a back seat. There’s a new agenda now.’
‘Which is?’
‘The thing’s going nuclear.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Somebody’s stumbled on a cache of warheads near a place called Ichembo, out west. I don’t know who found them, or how, because the site’s outside the war zone.’
‘Warheads?’ I asked
‘Nuclear heads for tactical weapons. Muende’s desperate to get his hands on them. He’s pissed off with the slow progress of his campaign. But now he reckons with medium-range nuclear capability he could knock out the north in a couple of weeks. A few missiles into Mulongwe, and all will be dandy. The north will be on its knees.’
‘Jesus!’ I went. ‘I bet they’re shitting bricks up there, then.’
‘They don’t even know about the stuff, yet. Nobody knows about it except us – that is, Muende’s force.’
‘How many heads are there?’
‘Supposed to be about fifty.’
‘What size?’
‘I dunno – like so, maybe.’ Sam held his hands about four feet apart to indicate their length. ‘I guess they’re like hundred-millimetre shells.’
‘Has Muende got the means to deliver them?’
‘Oh, sure. He has plenty Russian rockets. That’s how the warheads got here. Left behind by the Russians when they pulled out in a hurry. Then forgotten. Or, put it another way, deliberately not remembered. Apparently they’re in an underground silo, but they’re deteriorating – going unstable.’
‘If that arsehole Muende does get his hands on them,’ I began. ‘When he’s been drinking, he’s not rational any more. He might turn round and start on South Africa.’
‘That’s right. And the South Africans on the team know that. From what I’ve heard, they’re cooking up some plan of their own. Muende thinks they’re going to help him recover the warheads. They are, but once they’ve got them, they’re planning to hijack them for their own purposes.’
‘What do they want them for?’
‘You tell me. Maybe they’re working covertly for their government. Maybe they’ve got some private agenda. But this whole thing’s getting to be too big a fuckin’ mess. That’s why I’m wanting out. Ordinary fighting’s one thing. Nuclear is something else.’
‘Don’t blame you,’ I said. ‘What’s the timing of the operation?’
‘Immediate. The Afundis are going for the war-heads tomorrow. Correction, today. They’re gonna start right out this morning. The great commander’s going to direct the operation in person. It’ll be some circus, I tell you.’
‘Where is this place?’ I asked.
‘Ichembo? Not that far west of here. North-west, I should say. Maybe a hundred miles. But the main force has got to come up from the south, and then they’ve got to cross the river.’
‘So when do they reckon to get there?’
‘Evening, I guess. Why, you gonna join the party?’
‘Some chance!’
‘Sam,’ said Genesis. ‘How did you get involved with this shower, anyway?’
‘Answered one of Interaction’s ads. Simple as that. Came out of the military and found civilian life a bit tedious. I guess I was looking for some excitement. But I tell you something: if I’d known what a shithole Kamanga was, I’d never have gotten involved.’
‘The same goes for us,’ I said. ‘Except that we didn’t have the choice, we just got sent.’
The conversation drifted on. I was in a peculiar state. Lying flat on my back, looking up at the stars, I felt exhaustion pressing in on me like a heavy atmosphere from outside. I had that thick, cloudy feeling in my head that I’d been blaming on the Lariam. But at the same time apprehension was needling me internally and keeping me awake. I had to discipline myself not to go on asking Sam the time; after two enquiries, it was still only just after 0500, and there was at least half an hour to kill. My biggest worry was the rest of our guys were about to fall into the same trap as we had. Unless we got back to stop them, they’d set off in search of us soon after first light, and drive head-first into the shit at the convent.
In spite of everything, I must have dozed off. Suddenly, Gen was shaking my shoulder and saying, ‘Watch yourself, Geordie. Something’s starting up.’
He and Sam were already on their feet, looking back at the camp, where torches were flashing and people were running about.
‘Sounds like they’ve broken in to the cell and found the body,’ said Sam. ‘We better get set.’
Above the camp, in the east, the sky had started to lighten, but the moon had set, and around us the land still looked black as coal.
‘Can’t we get off right away?’ Gen asked.
‘Not yet,’ I said, looking at the sky. ‘Have to hang on for a bit.’
‘We’ve got a few minutes,’ said Sam, calmly. ‘They’ll run around the huts like blue-assed flies, looking for you. There’s nothing to draw anybody in this direction. When they find you’re missing, most likely they’ll head for the transportation section. They’ll think you’re trying to steal a vehicle.’
‘You’d better be right.’
The longer we held on, the more I managed to convince myself that the aircraft’s engine wasn’t going to start. Given the Kamangans’ abysmal standards of maintenance, the chances of it firing up and running properly seemed infinitesimally small.
Now, more than ever, precise timing was going to be critical. If we took off prematurely, in the dark, we could be committing suicide. If we let the light get too strong, and then couldn’t start the engine, we’d almost certainly be spotted and picked off by trigger-happy guards.
Dawn seemed desperately retarded. Daylight strengthened with impossible slowness, the greyness hardly able to infiltrate the black. The sky was clear – not a cloud anywhere – so I knew the apparent slowdown was psychological, but that did nothing to speed things up or ease my nerves.
Back in the camp, the commotion kept increasing. Vehicles had started to scud about. Horns were blowing, torches and headlights flashing, orders being shouted, doors slammed.
‘Let’s flit,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s do it.’
Looking at him, I could just make out his
features for the first time: dark hair, thick eyebrows, broad, humorous face.
‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘This is good enough.’
I’d hardly spoken when a pair of headlights swung out of the camp and came straight for us. They were five or six hundred metres off, but moving fast. Clearly, their objective was the hangar.
‘That’s it!’ I shouted. ‘Get in, Gen. Sam, on the starter!’
I jumped into the left-hand seat, squeezed the ball to pump fuel through the carbs, and called, ‘Pull!’
Sam pulled. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. At the third attempt the engine fired, backfired and cut. I stole a glance over my shoulder. The headlights were bouncing around, speeding towards us. I pumped again, and shouted, ‘Keep pulling!’ Once more the engine fired up and cut. In the silence I heard two sharp cracks snap out behind me. Screwing my head round, I saw the headlights boring in on us.
‘Pull, Sam!’ I bellowed. ‘For fuck’s sake, pull!’ My adrenalin was well up. My hands were shaking on the controls. As the engine fired again I whipped up the accelerator arm and sent the revs sky-high. ‘Okay! I yelled through the sudden scream. ‘Get in!’
More rounds were cracking past us. Sam, in front of me on the left, let go of the handle and ran round the front of the aircraft to jump in on top of Genesis. But as he came level with the open doorway, he gave a sudden yell, slumped forward and went down. From the way he buckled, backwards then forwards, I knew he’d got a round through the chest.
Gen made a move to get out and grab him.
‘Stay put! I yelled. ‘Leave him! He’s fucked.’
I ran up the revs, released the handbrake and got the little aircraft rolling. The acceleration felt sluggish, and the track was rough, but at least we were moving. I glanced over my shoulder once more and saw the pursuing headlights veer wildly from side to side. Then the beams whipped straight up into the sky, like searchlights, before they wheeled over and were snuffed out. The vehicle had hit a rock or gone into a hole.
By then the sky was fairly bright. What light we had was coming from behind us, so forward visibility was adequate and I could see my instruments. I fixed my eyes on the airspeed indicator and watched the needle pick up: fifteen knots, twenty, twenty-five. In a few moments the ASI was reading thirty-five. Mentally, I urged it upwards. Only five more needed for lift-off. Suddenly, on my left, a stream of glowing green spots zipped past from behind and went looping away into the distance.
