‘That’s him!’ wheezed Bonnie as the face beneath the wimple caught the light. ‘That’s the guy that shot me!’
‘Anastasia. Can you get a clean shot?’
‘Not from here.’
‘Then we need to get closer. Fast.’ He reached down as he ran and scooped up the dark red mud at his feet. It smelt of iron as he smeared it over his face. It was almost hot against his skin. It reminded him, in all sorts of ways, of blood.
‘Colonel Mako? How are things going on the broader front?’ he wheezed.
‘Squad One are still finding it hard going, even with more men coming round as back-up. The other men are moving through the camp in standard pincer, but the GPS shows you, Bonnie and Anastasia in the last army stronghold in the compound itself. I’d say they’re setting up a line of retreat into the bush where we’ll never find them.’
‘Looks like someone else has taken command now that Moses Nlong is no longer with us,’ said Robin. ‘Someone with some military nous.’
‘Correct. And he’s got Celine Chaka.’
‘That could be a problem,’ said the Colonel.
‘Will be a problem,’ added Robin. ‘Given her father’s change of heart. She’s quite a bargaining counter, all of a sudden.’
‘Important enough to get whoever’s got her safe passage out of the country?’ asked Anastasia.
‘I’d say so,’ answered Robin. ‘It’s a father — daughter thing.’
‘Do tell,’ grated Anastasia in a tone that made Richard automatically glance over at the back of her T-shirt. But it was too dark to see ‘AND F*** YOUR FAMILY’ written there.
This conversation all but covered the time it took the little squad to get to the hindmost of the two technicals — and for the man disguised as a nun to drag Celine to the door of the first one. Because they were moving so fast and so silently through the noisy darkness that was full of revving engines, gunshots and shouting — not to mention the roaring of flames from the guttering tank, the blazing chapel and the still-burning palisade — the squad of women with Richard were able to take the men aboard the second technical by complete surprise. A surprise aided by the madness of what Anastasia and her cohort were trying to do, coupled with the distractingly hypnotic sight of a man dressed as a nun with a gun wrestling with the nearly sainted folk-heroine daughter of the country’s president.
The feral women simply erupted up out of the darkness, using their guns as clubs, and silently overpowered the three men in the back of the pick up and the two men in the front. Richard was able to spring up on to the flatbed and grasp the double handle of the massive weapon there. ‘This is the Shipunov self-powering four-barrelled Gatling designed mini-gun,’ he said, awestruck. ‘God knows where they got a piece of cutting-edge Russian hardware like this, ladies. But I think it’ll certainly help me get over my penis envy.’
No sooner had he finished speaking than the door of the technical in front of them slammed and the vehicle lurched into motion. Anastasia hauled the unconscious driver of the second technical out on to the mud and gunned the motor as the others clambered aboard, then they were off. Richard hung on grimly, straining his eyes to assess whether the Milan that had decapitated the T80 was the only one the lead Toyota had carried. Although he held the Shipunov — held on to it for all he was worth, in fact, as Anastasia’s driving matched her approach to the rest of her life — he did not want to fire it as that would put Celine at risk. The men in front would have no such worries about launching another missile at him, however. And even as the thought occurred to Richard, he saw the three men in the vehicle in front start to prepare another Milan. There was still an outside chance they didn’t realize their friends had been replaced, he calculated grimly. But the instant the nun in charge gave an order on the headset under his wimple and got no reply, then he and the girls in the second technical were toast.
Unless, of course, the men in the lead would also be putting themselves at risk if they launched. ‘Anastasia,’ he called. ‘Keep as close as you can.’
‘I’m aiming to get more than fucking close…’ grated the Russian woman, grinding the gears as she spoke.
‘Good, good,’ he said paternally. ‘That’s the ticket. If we fall back, he’ll nuke us, as likely as not; same as he did to my tank.’
The two Toyotas roared along the inner wall of the stockade, beneath the Roman candle that was all that remained of the watchtower overlooking the jetty, and on towards the bush. Richard was sidetracked for an instant, calculating whether Sanda would have had time to get the girls from the hut across the war-zone they were heading for and down to the safety of the Shaldag and the river. If not, then the two careering vehicles were all too possibly just about to decimate a crocodile of terrified schoolgirls on top of everything else.
But then his worries became less speculative. The men in the back of the Toyota immediately in front started shooting at them. Or two of them did, while the third got the next Milan ready to fire.
The Toyota lurched forward as though Anastasia had found a nitrous oxide canister to gun the motor. The vehicles ground along, side by side, smashing brutally up against each other. It was only when a bullet smashed into the body armour on his chest that Richard was shocked into action. He realized that if they were side by side he could deploy the Shipunov without endangering Celine. If he was careful. Somewhere between a nanosecond and a microsecond after that thought occurred to him, the back of the other Toyota was empty — of men, guns and Milan missiles. All of it chewed into nothingness and hurled riverwards by something that sounded like a mad blacksmith trying to shatter an anvil with the biggest hammer he possessed.
Then he realized that if he could depress the mini-gun’s elevation sufficiently, he could do to the Toyota’s back axle what he had just done to its on-board weapons system. Even as he pressed the trigger, Anastasia hurled her vehicle right, ramming the other technical, while its driver reciprocated. The far side of the Toyota’s flatbed followed the men and the Milans into oblivion. But even as it did so, the palisade wall vanished and there was only riverbank beside them — and jungle dead ahead. Anastasia threw the technical sideways once again and the other vehicle began to slide. The riverbank was slick mud, sloping downwards to the water. The racing tyres had very little purchase here — hardly enough to carry them safely to the dry and level safety of the undergrowth half a kilometre ahead. Anastasia threw the technical sideways a third time and the eight tyres driving the two vehicles forward lost their grip at last. The bullet-riddled Toyota began to slide away from Richard — even as he felt Anastasia beginning to lose control of hers. But his gun was still at the maximum depression, and each foot that separated them brought that back axle more surely into his sights. So that at last he was able to pull the trigger and see the whole flatbed dissolve as the mad blacksmith took up his hammer once again. The back of the speeding vehicle broke. The cab slewed round and round. For a moment it looked as though it might roll. But no. Instead it settled as the square-cut end behind the cab sank down on to the slick mud, holding the front steady as it slid down into the water with all the stately grace of an ocean liner being launched. Anastasia’s Toyota followed it, swinging round as though it was still under her control, so that the headlights shone on to the wreck as they slid to a halt. Richard ratcheted the mini-gun back on its mount, keeping the shattered technical in his sights.