He was eyeing a large piece of broken tree trunk lying at the water’s edge.
‘Swim.’
She looked like she was contemplating the proposal, then nodded to herself. ‘Easier on the feet,’ she said.
He walked further into the water. It grew deeper with each step. He stopped when it reached his chest and thought the idea through some more.
He stepped back out of the water and to the log, grabbed hold of an end and took the strain to test its weight. It moved fairly easily considering its size, suggesting it was hollow. He lifted up the end, shuffled it around so that he had it parallel with the water’s edge and gently rolled it in. Bubbles came up as it absorbed the water and it quickly settled, a couple of inches of bark above the surface. He wanted to use it for cover as well as a flotation aid. He decided it would be adequate for both.
Stratton looked up at the thick, swirling clouds. He wasn’t familiar with the seasons or weather patterns of Somalia but it looked like rain was imminent.
‘I think we should stay in the water for as long as we can,’ he said. ‘You ready?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly. All she could think of was what would happen to her if they caught her. In truth, she was afraid to even move. But she was even more afraid to stay. It was a living hell. Getting to the coast unseen was only one part of the drama. The worst was yet to come. Getting back to civilisation seemed to be as impossible as getting to the moon right then.
Stratton took hold of the front of the log and pulled it into the deeper water. The girl followed, taking hold of the log, swimming within a few metres. Stratton lost touch with the bottom and he began to swim easily, one hand on the log, the other pushing the water behind him, his feet kicking gently below.
They swam the trunk soundlessly into the open water, keeping closer to the east side of the river to put as much distance as possible between them and the bank that the Somalis had patrolled.
He felt comfortable with the overall plan so far. Walking would have been quicker but it would have left them more exposed. There were risks with the waterborne option but after weighing them all, Stratton had decided it was safer than by land.
He estimated the beach to be around seven kilometres north. The town was another two or three kilometres west of where the river met the sea. He doubted they would be able to move the log more than two kilometres an hour. Add an hour to walk along the beach. If their progress wasn’t interrupted, that would bring them within sight of the cargo vessels with enough time to swim out to sea, approach the ship from the opposite side to the beach and climb on board before dawn.
As they swam, Stratton kept a wary eye in all directions. He suspected the jihadists’ efforts to contain the area would be focused on their own side of the water. But he couldn’t afford to underestimate them. The camp was even more visible from the far side of the river, illuminated by a sprinkling of electrical lights, kerosene lamps and campfires. It also looked bigger than he had estimated from the rocky slope above it, spreading much further around the side of the hill. A conservative estimate of the number of men it contained, based on the crowd that had turned out for the executions and allowing for patrols and outlying control points, had to be approximately three to four hundred. He wondered how he would attack such a place, how many men would be required and the best way to approach it. Attacking the camp was certainly something to aim for to destroy the missiles. He wondered if the Yanks or the Brits currently had the appetite for such an adventure. The political and legal ramifications would be obvious. But if they didn’t, many people would probably die. Stratton put his money on them mounting an assault – as long as he could get back to tell them what he knew.
If an attack did happen, Stratton could only hope that he would be a part of it. If so, he would make a point of finding Sabarak personally and tearing him apart.
As they progressed along the river, the dense bushes receded from the banks and the reed beds in the water became sparser. That all served to increase their exposure, which was a concern to Stratton. Because one of his contingencies on seeing signs of the enemy had been to leave the water and move into the scrub. That option appeared to be fast disappearing.
But as he thought, the dark clouds that had been thickening above them throughout the evening opened up and the rain started and came down in torrents. So heavy it looked like the water was boiling, the drops themselves like tiny pebbles hitting them.
‘At least the flies have gone,’ she called out above the noise.
And not just the flies would be taking cover, he thought. He very much doubted the Somalis would remain on exposed watch in this kind of weather.
‘Let’s up the pace,’ he called out. There was no telling how long the rain would last and they had to make the most of it. Cover from noise and the disturbance of the water meant they could increase their activity and make as much headway as possible.
They pounded through the relentless rain, immune to the chill of the water. Soon the river began to widen. They pushed on at a good pace, enough for Stratton to alter their estimated time of arrival at the Oasis. But then they saw the enemy. Stratton wasn’t in the least surprised. The first sign of the jihadists since they began their swim.
It was a distant light on the west bank.
He found it difficult to see beyond the banks because the surface of the water was well below the level of the land. The light seemed to be on the riverbank. As they drew closer, it looked more and more like a vehicle heading down to the water.
Stratton slowed his efforts and concentrated on it. They might have to get out of the water. The rain pelted them and they watched the vehicle come on. The single light gradually became two headlights as it turned a little more in their direction. When a few hundred metres away, the lights swept over the river as the vehicle made a tight turn to face right at it. The vehicle came to a halt with the headlights shining across the river and illuminating the opposite bank.
Stratton had two immediate thoughts. The enemy was setting up a control point or the vehicle was aiming to drive across the river. Then he remembered the track he passed on the approach to the jihadist camp, a track that headed in the direction of the river. He was probably looking at the same place. Perhaps the track led to a ford. Maybe it was a local truck, nothing to do with the jihadists.
They maintained their progress while they still had time to decide whether to pass it in the water or move to the land. The rain continued to fall heavily, providing good cover. In the absence of much scrub on either bank, they would be silhouetted even in the darkened conditions and so the water remained the best option.
The truck’s headlights went off. Stratton could just about make out its silhouette against the distant lighter skies. He decided to remain on course and keep close to the opposite bank, a good football pitch’s width from the truck at that point.
No sooner had he made the decision when small hand-held lights appeared in front of the truck. It looked like men had been at the river and had emerged from cover when the truck arrived.
Stratton weighed the risks, which still remained in favour of the water option. If the people with the flashlights had been watching the river, they would be currently distracted by the truck. Their night vision would also be temporarily disrupted because of their lights.
The rain continued to come down in heavy sheets as Stratton, the girl and the log closed on the point where the truck faced the river. The noise made by the rain hitting the water continued to drown out all other sounds. They couldn’t hear the truck’s engine if it was still running. Judging by the flashlights, the sentries remained preoccupied with the vehicle. Stratton’s confidence that they could get past unnoticed increased.