"Get the manuals," Sean told Job. When he brought them over, they squatted beside the open case and pored through the heavy volume that described the post system.
"Here it is! "Hind attack system. Color code red. Numerical code S.42.A." Under the post system the Stinger missiles could be programmed to attack various targets by employing tactics and search frequencies specific to that type of aircraft. Simply by inserting one of the micro cassettes into the console of the launcher, the missile could be instructed to alter its attack technique.
"System software cassette. S.42.A."
"-Job followed the text with his forefinger as he read aloud from the manual-"
"is targeted on the Hind helicopter gunship. The system employs a two color seeker that registers both infrared and ultraviolet emissions in two stages. The initial stage will lock to infrared from the engine exhaust system.
"The Hind's exhaust suppressors divert and emit those infrared rays through heavily armored outlets below the main fuselage.
Missile strikes on this section of the Hind have proved ineffective.
"The S.42.A. modification automatically switches the guidance system of the Stinger into ultraviolet seeker mode when range to target is reduced to a hundred meters. Ultraviolet is emitted principally from the air intake ports of the Isotov TV3-117 turboshaft engines. This area is the only section of the fuselage not encased in titanium armor plate, and missile strikes through the engine intake posts have resulted in hundred percent kills.
"To achieve effective ultraviolet acquisition, the initial launch of the missile must be made from below and dead ahead of the aircraft, at a range not exceeding 1,000 meters or less than 150 meters." Job closed the manual with a snap. "Big casino!" he said.
"China is getting more than he ever hoped for."
There were thirty-three heavy cam to carry and only twenty uninjured men, including Sean and Job. Sean cached the boxes they were forced to leave. He would send a detail back to fetch them once they reached the Renamo lines.
Carrying what they could, including the trainer and the position equipment, they set out along the bank of the modi fica Pungwe River at nightfall, groping for a contact with the Renaino front line. They marched all that night.
The extended column, slowed down by the heavy cases of missiles, covered only twelve miles before sunrise. However, the weather had changed and the wind had backed into the east, bringing in low clouds and a cold drizzle of rain that would hide them from the searching Hinds. They kept going all that day.
At dusk Sean let them rest for a few hours. They huddled miserably in the rain until Sean roused them once again and they stumbled on, slipping and sliding in the mud and cursing the loads upon their backs. An hour after sunrise the clouds rolled away, and their sodden battle dress steamed as it dried On their backs Two hours later they ran into the ambush.
They were moving through light savannah along the riverbank.
The flat-topped acaci# thorn trees were interspersed with clumps of coarse elephant grass. Sean heard the metallic snap of the loading handle being jerked back to cock a machine gun, and before the sound had fully registered in his brain he was diving forward, shouting a warning to his Shanganes. As he hit the sandy earth with his elbows and belly, he saw the muzzle flashes shimmering and dancing like fairy lights in the grass only thirty paces ahead.
A blaze of shot passed over his head, making him blink and flinch.
He rolled left to throw the gunner's aim, holding the AKM with one hand as though it were a pistol, firing blindly to further confuse the attackers and groping for the grenade on his belt.
He was on the point of hurling the grenade when behind him Ferdinand shouted a challenge in Portuguese and the firing from the front shriveled and died away. From the patch of elephant grass just ahead of Sean, a voice replied to the challenge. Then III Ferdinand was shouting urgently in Shangane, "Cease fire! Cease fire! Renamo! Renamo!"
There was a long, suspicious silence during which Sean kept his right arm cocked back ready to throw the grenade. He had seen too many good men called out to die in a false truce.
"Renamo!" a voice from the front reiterated. "Friends!"
"All right!" Sean shouted back in Shangane. "Stand up, Renamo. Let us see your beautiful friendly faces."
Somebody laughed, and a grinning black face under a tiger striped camouflage cap popped up out of the grass and ducked back immediately.
After a few seconds, when there was no more firing, another man stood up cautiously, and then another. Sean's Shanganes came to their feet and moved forward, slowly at first and with weapons cocked, and then they were meeting on open ground, shaking hands and laughing and slapping each other's backs. They had run into the sector held by the battalion under the command of Major Takawira. He recognized Sean immediately, and they shook hands with mutual pleasure.
"Colonel Courtney! What a relief to see you alive! We heard on the news from the BBC and Radio Zimbabwe that your aircraft had been shot down in flames with you and all your men wiped out."
"I need your help, Major," Sean told him. "I've left twenty cases of missiles cached out there in the bush. I want you to send a detachment of a hundred men to fetch them in. One of my men will guide them to the cache."
"I'll send my best men. I'll pick them out personally," Takawira assured him.
"How far are we from General China's HQT" Sean asked.
"The Frelimo helicopters have forced him to pull back. His new HQ is only six miles upstream. I have just spoken to the general on the radio, and he is most anxious to see you."