Stratton’s mind raced, desperate to remember what the sound meant. He had it before the object landed at his feet. He knew what it was even before he focused on the curved piece of pressed alloy three inches long and spoon-shaped at one end. It was still rolling on the muddy soil as he turned on his heels and yelled ‘Grenade!’ as loudly as he could.
The others did not react as fast. A second had ticked away before the horrible danger struck them and they began to turn away - all except Miguel. He stared in disbelief at the grenade nestled in between the tightly packed rows of military explosives. Only when it smoked and hissed as the fuse that ran down its centre began to burn towards the detonator did he make any effort to get away. His right foot slid on the soft ground as he planted the other heavily.
Stratton counted the third second instinctively in his head, straining to put as much distance between himself and the boxes as possible. Before the end of the fourth second he knew he had to be close to the ground. There was a tree only metres ahead of him and he threw himself down beside it. As he hit the ground he grabbed the base of the trunk and his momentum slung him around the back of it.
The explosion was massive - its force scooped Stratton up bodily and threw him through the bushes. His world lit up like a supernova and before he could come to a rolling stop he started to scurry madly along on his belly, knowing that there was more to come. One after another, deafening blasts whipped at him as he thrashed his way through the dense undergrowth, the shock waves slamming into him like hurricane-driven concrete blocks. Something struck him in the back, burning like crazy, but he fought his way onwards. A huge ball of fire ignited the foliage around him. The heat was intense. Yet he knew it was time to get to his feet - if he still had them.
Stratton pulled his legs beneath him and, keeping low, thrust forward like a sprinter. He punched through a thicket, clawing at the ground in desperation as he went. Another series of explosions went off like a firework display, projectiles whistling through the air in every direction. As he burst from the bushes he rolled down an incline that took him out of the direct line of fire and when he came to a stop he curled into a tight ball to weather whatever else was to come.
Stratton lay there, breathing heavily, wondering if he was going to live or die. Being conscious right now was not necessarily proof that he would survive. The explosions continued. He could feel the heat from the blazing wood but the blasts were no longer coming directly at him so he uncurled to take a look.
His clothes were smouldering but his limbs appeared to be intact. He had all his fingers although they were lacerated. He felt his head and face, his nose and ears and teeth. They were where they should have been as far as he could tell. He felt his stomach and his sides and when he looked at his hands again they were wet with fresh blood from somewhere.
The shock wave from yet another ground-shaking explosion tore through the foliage and shot over him. Debris rained down everywhere. Something heavy, a piece of a pallet, hit the ground close by. He felt a sharp pain shooting through his back near his shoulder blades and he reached around to feel something sticking from his flesh.
Stratton ignored it and forced himself onto his knees as he wondered what had happened to the others. There were shouts coming from the sentry post and men were running in every direction. He staggered a little as he got to his feet and headed back towards the burning wood. A fresh blast sent him to the ground once again and he wondered how many more explosives were left. The wood, what was left of it, continued to burn. Smoke was everywhere, making his throat and eyes as sore as hell.
Through it he saw a man kneeling and made his way towards him. Another man lay on his back beside him. Both had blackened skin and at first glance were unrecognisable.
‘You okay?’ Stratton shouted.
The kneeling man looked at him, breathing heavily, the whites of his eyes stark in his blackened face, his hair mostly burned away, blood streaming from his nose and a cut on his face. It was David. The other man too was obviously in a lot of pain, cradling his arm.
‘Have you seen the others?’ Stratton shouted, realising that his ears were ringing.
David was in a state of shock but managed to understand enough to shake his head.
There was a chance that the rest of them could be alive. Every second counted. A series of bangs went off, sounding like small-arms ammunition exploding. Stratton ignored them and headed back to the edge of the wood, pausing to look around. There was no sign of life and he pushed his way back in through the burned branches. He had not gone far before he saw something moving in the ash. The man lay on his side, shaking involuntarily, and Stratton carefully turned him over onto his back. He could not tell who it was. ‘You’re going to be okay,’ he said as he quickly checked him for any obviously serious wounds such as wholly or partially severed limbs. The man looked badly burned - his clothing was stuck to his flesh in places. Stratton knew from experience that the greatest threat to life from burns came after the immediate trauma, with dehydration and infection. But at that moment the most important thing was to get the man out of any further danger.
Stratton shouted for assistance and several men came towards him to help. He continued on into the wood despite the flames that now played around him. The smoke slowed him down and he was forced to squat low to the ground in order to search for the missing men. He saw another one lying still up ahead, a flaming branch across his body. Stratton hurried to him on his hands and knees, coughing violently as the acrid smoke filled his lungs. He yanked the branch away, burning his hands, grabbed the man under his arms and began to drag him back. But the lack of oxygen was taking its toll and he began to feel dizzy. He made one last effort, inhaling the hot ash-filled air, and as his lungs convulsed again he pulled the body backwards for several metres. As he dropped to the ground hands grabbed him and Stratton let them haul him away, unable to help any more.
Stratton felt himself being placed on the ground. Although he was now in clean air, all he could do was cough and hack harshly. As the spasm passed he rolled onto his front, panting heavily, black saliva drooling from his mouth. He opened his watering eyes to see the charred figure of a man lying beside him. The man’s face was unrecognisable and he lay motionless, his mouth wide open.
A voice cut through the noise of the growing crowd, shouting for people to get back and out of the way. Victor arrived and surveyed the carnage.
He went to the surviving men, talking to them briefly, assessing their injuries. Another body was carried out of the wood and placed on the ground. Victor stood over the survivors, horrified at their condition.
He came across to Stratton and squatted down beside him. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
Stratton pushed himself up onto his knees. ‘I can manage,’ he croaked.
‘Lie back down,’ Victor ordered.
Stratton knew that the man was right but he needed to prove to himself that he was going to live and to do that he had to get to his feet. He struggled to stand upright but then the light faded and he fell back to the ground, unconscious.
Chapter 4
Stratton opened his eyes, feeling drowsy and disorientated. His mouth and throat were so sore and dry that he could not even swallow. After finally managing to focus on the straw ceiling he turned his head on the pillow to see his backpack beside the bed. He realised that he was on the mezzanine floor of Victor’s cabin.
He was stiff from head to toe. As he made an effort to roll onto his back a violent pain shot through his shoulder blade. He lay still, taking short sharp breaths to ease the stinging, trying to take everything in. But his thirst was unbearable and another look around revealed a jug beside the bed.