Sabarak pulled at the men around him in an effort to get through to the safety of the trees. Stratton fired again. The bullet slapped past Sabarak’s face and struck a man in the neck. The Saudi fought desperately to get out of the line of fire. He knew it was Stratton and knew he was the target. He felt like he was running in molasses, the time between the shots painfully long. He pushed his way in between the men in front of him. Stratton shot the man directly behind Sabarak to clear his field of fire. The target dropped but another replaced him. Stratton shot him too but by the time he had fallen away, there was another where Sabarak should have been. Stratton lowered the weapon to get a better look. The Saudi had gone.
By then, many of the fighters had taken up firing positions in the dirt and were training their weapons up the slope. Stratton’s eyes fell on Hopper, who had not moved, kneeling in the middle of the clearing, a lone figure surrounded by mayhem and bodies, with a headless corpse beside him. Hopper was clearly confused but doing what he knew was best in such a situation and that was to remain still. If it was a rescue attempt, the rescuers knew precisely where he was and in the absence of any instruction from them he would remain still and avoid getting in the way.
The only thing Stratton could now do for Hopper was obvious enough. The only humane thing he could think of doing. Hopper’s fate had been truly sealed the second Stratton fired.
A round came Stratton’s way, the first return of fire, thudding into the rock a foot from his head. He didn’t move other than to raise the barrel of the carbine and set the sights on Hopper.
Another bullet screamed at him, ricocheting close by. As a another struck close to him, he placed Hopper’s head in the sight picture. Hopper still hadn’t moved but he was swaying. Stratton breathed out, then he pulled the trigger, dropping to the ground at the same instant he fired as a volley peppered the rocks around him.
He remained there for a few seconds. The jihadists loosed off wild fire in his direction. But he needed to know Hopper was down. Stratton wanted confirmation. The retribution Hopper could expect would be torturous and malicious. So he had to know he hadn’t missed. He had aimed for Hopper’s head when he fired. He was certain he had struck him. There was a possibility he had flinched as he pulled the trigger but he doubted it. But he realised he could do no more if he was to have any chance of surviving himself.
He gripped the rifle in one hand, moved the safety catch back one click into the fully automatic fire position and put a finger on the trigger. He took a deep breath, aware that it might well be one of his last, and scrambled around the back of the boulder. Without a pause, he stepped out from cover, held the rifle in his outstretched hand, aimed the barrel towards the clearing and fired, running along the incline.
10
The enemy’s reaction to Stratton’s charge from cover was slow, possibly because several of his rounds found their marks in the crowd of men. The clearing offered the fighters little protection. Shouts went up as fighters tried to warn of the enemy sighting but the majority of the jihadists reacted with unrestrained hysteria and anger and a lust for revenge.
It felt to Stratton like he had been running in the exposed open for minutes. He failed to see how they couldn’t bring him down. Several rounds struck the ground around his feet, kicking up dirt and stones. He had expended his ammunition in the first few metres and ditched the weapon because it slowed him down. He felt sure a concentrated volley would hit him before he reached the crest. As another round struck close by, he threw himself to the ground and rolled downhill to break up his predictable direction. A cloud of bullets ripped up the slope where he had been an instant earlier.
Up he sprang. The crest was metres away. A bullet slammed across his back. He felt it burn like a branding iron. Another bullet hit his lower leg somewhere but his movement was not affected. He dived for the ridge and rolled over it. Bullets tore up the crest behind him. He scrambled to his feet and pushed on.
He could see the girl further down the slope running as fast as she could. She glanced back to see Stratton coming after her and as she faced the front again she tripped and went sprawling down the slope. Dazed, she clambered to her feet just as Stratton caught up with her. He grabbed her shirt and yanked her on, keeping hold of her until she was running with him.
They heard the crash of rifle fire in their direction and the sound of bullets slashing into the ground nearby. Stratton couldn’t feel the pain in his back and leg, his adrenaline pumping hard through his veins. He wondered if the warriors would use the pick-ups. All the more reason for them to get to the river as soon as humanly possible.
They came to the bottom of the trough and ran hard to the top of the next rise. A handful of jihadists had made it to the crest behind them and opened fire. Stratton heard the girl make a grunting sound behind him. He quickly looked back to see if she had been hit. She appeared to have twisted her ankle but not enough to slow her by much and she soon recovered to keep up with him.
As several more rounds struck around them, they tore over the crest and down the other side. Out of sight of their pursuers. But not for long if they didn’t keep up the pace.
Their next target was a couple of hundred metres away. The ground levelled out as they headed for the river. Dense scrub covered the broad lowland plain up ahead. Thin and patchy knee-high bushes grew on the outskirts but thick foliage was not far beyond.
They reached the low brush without a shot being fired at them. Stratton could feel his heart pounding in his chest with the effort but he would keep up the pace until it exploded. It was that or a bullet in the back.
The rounds came at them again but sporadic and poorly aimed. Only a handful of the faster warriors had made it to the rise behind them and these men were not great shots. The AK-47 wasn’t accurate at long range.
The denser bushes looked like a dark-green wall and Stratton crashed right through, the brittle twigs painfully scratching and cutting his skin. The girl followed his path and although spared having to make the way through was whipped heavily by the catapulting branches he created.
Running quickly became impossible as the scrub density increased. They maintained as fast a walk as they could. Pushing their way through. The bushes were now above their waists but they were still targets. They finally made the higher foliage and went inside. The density only increased. They were making a lot of noise. Stratton was aware that at some point they would have to compromise speed for sound and reduced disturbance – the moving tops of the bushes would give away their position. He wanted to get closer to the river before they went to ground so that they could quench their thirsts. He knew that however bad he felt, the girl was going to be in a far worse state. He could feel and hear she was close by and still pushing on relentlessly.
Stratton crouched lower and they struck some really thick scrub so he paused to catch his breath and assess the situation. He could hear the jihadists crashing through the bush back where they had entered the mass. The thick bushes ahead of them were like barbed wire: hard to get through but still easy enough to see through. They didn’t provide great cover from view. If anyone came within ten metres or so, they were likely to see them.
They had to remove the evidence of their train and Stratton got down on to his belly and began crawling between the bushes. The girl followed.
A sudden crash from a nearby flank and Stratton and the girl stopped moving. Several fighters were attempting to push through to their right. Voices followed. They were close. The snapping sounds increased but gradually began heading away.