Checking a wound in the dark is not to be recommended. I told him what I was going to do, but I was shaking with tiredness and the rush of adrenalin. He swore silently as my fingers brushed against the swollen area of skin around the bullet wound, and I felt the slick wetness of blood seeping out of him and running down his side. I felt round the back but there was no sign of an exit wound.
All I could do was get it strapped up. But right now wasn’t the time or the place. We had to get out of here before Musa’s men closed in and found us by a process of elimination.
‘You should bug out,’ Tober muttered, his breathing ragged. ‘No point us both getting chopped.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Keep up with that crap and I might save Musa’s men the trouble and shoot you myself.’
‘It’s no longer your fight, Portman. You did what you had to — you got Pryce out.’
‘Matter of fact, I got paid for both of you. Now shut the fuck up unless you have a miracle plan to get us out of here.’
He tried a chuckle but it didn’t quite come off. ‘What happened — you left a mate behind once and never forgot — is that it?’
‘Something like that. Any bright ideas?’
His head lolled to one side and I figured he was going into shock. But his survival instincts were still kicking in. ‘Boat. It’s the only way. Get me a boat and I’ll tell you what to do.’
He was right. First we had to find one we could use. ‘Did you see any on the beach with engines?’
‘A couple. But they weren’t great.’ He coughed and clutched his side. ‘The hulls looked heavy and the engines were lightweight. The Somalis would catch us in no time if they called up one of their assault skiffs. They may look like shite but those things can really move.’
I decided to check them out for myself. It was risky but anything was better than staying here and waiting to be caught. ‘Come on,’ I said, giving him my arm. ‘We’re off to the beach.’
He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Oh, goodie. It’s been ages since I had a day by the seaside.’
We stepped outside and stood in deep shadow. Voices sounded all around us, the configuration of the huts making it difficult to pinpoint precisely where they were coming from.
Safe to assume all over.
I checked the nearest alleyway, which I estimated ran roughly in a north-south direction, dog-legging between huts and bungalows. From the map in my head I reckoned we needed east to west, with a slight kink south to fetch us close to where the nearest boats were moored. I set off, holding Tober’s arm until he shrugged it off, and led the way past two bungalows until we came to a narrow intersection. This was about right to turn east towards the beach.
Our one advantage was, nobody had told Musa’s men that a hunting party had to be quiet if they wanted to catch their prey. With all the hollering, the roar of vehicle engines and the occasional shot being fired as somebody spooked at shadows, we knew exactly where they were, and could plan our route accordingly.
Well, almost.
As we slunk past a small hut, I heard a sudden intake of breath in the darkness and a shot was fired so close it lit up the night around us.
Sixty
We got lucky; the shooter was as surprised as we were. His finger must have tightened on the trigger as he brought up his gun and the round slammed harmlessly into the hard-packed earth at our feet. In the flash of light I saw a shocked face above a bandolier of shells and a white shirt, and a pair of bug eyes staring back at me from less than three feet away. I was too close to bring the AK level, so made do by chopping him under the chin and stashing him back inside the hut under a heap of netting and canvas.
We hurried on and hit the beach a few minutes later, emerging between two long bungalows lit by flickering oil lamps. I kept my fingers crossed that the people inside were fishermen and not Musa’s men looking for a taste of glory.
Tober squatted next to me and pointed at a group of five boats in the distance. They were about three hundred metres away across open sand, which is a long way to go with a wounded man losing blood, and being chased by a bunch of trigger-happy gunmen.
But we had no choice.
‘Three of those have got engines that looked in working order,’ he whispered, and stifled a cough. ‘The rest are useless.’
Working order might not be enough to do it, but it was better than the alternative. ‘Good. Can you make it that far?’ He sounded bad and I wasn’t sure I could carry him far; he was a big guy to throw over my shoulder.
‘I’ll beat you any day,’ he muttered sourly.
We set off for the boats, our feet sinking into the softer, sun-dried sand at the top of the beach. It was hard going, especially for Tober, but the sooner we got down on to the harder surface, the easier it would be.
We were about halfway across when whatever thin cloud lay overhead shifted away completely as if a puff of breeze had been thrown up by the fates. Then a shot came sizzling past our heads and a man shouted, followed by others. As we turned and looked, two vehicles burst out through a thin fence at the far end of the beach, throwing wood and palm fronds into the air and charging straight towards us. The lead vehicle had two headlights, while the one behind had only one. We’d met that one already; now he was back for a rematch.
‘Go!’ I shouted, and pushed Tober towards the boats. I needed him to find one that worked and to get the engine started.
But he wasn’t having any of it. ‘Too far,’ he gasped. ‘It’ll take too long and they’ll be all over us before we leave the beach.’
I glanced towards the charging vehicles. He was right: they were moving too fast and would cut us off in seconds. The light of the second one lit up its companion and showed a bunch of armed men clinging on to the back, and among them, something long poking into the night sky. Then a man stood up behind it and swung it down towards us and I felt my blood run cold. I’d seen that profile before.
It was a heavy machine gun.
Jesus, what else were they going to bring to the party?
‘Here.’ Tober jerked a thumb at his shoulder and knelt down heavily on the sand, putting his fingers in his ears. He was indicating that I should use him as a firing platform.
Good plan.
I laid the AK across his shoulders and dropped to one knee, pushing the muzzle as far forward from Tober’s head as I could. I sighted on the lead pickup, which was the most dangerous.
The gunner beat me to it. The muzzle flickered crazily as each round left the barrel, the yammering sound of the shots rolling across the bay towards us in a frenzy of firepower.
The air around us turned crazy as the shots went over our heads in a deadly stream, snapping through the night. But the gunner was too keen to show what he could do and didn’t wait for the truck to hit firmer ground; the pickup was bouncing too much for him to get a bead on us and he had an unsteady platform beneath him. We both ducked instinctively, and I turned my head and watched as a stream of shots curved downwards beyond us and kicked up sand at the water’s edge … and ripped through the very boats we had been heading for.
The devastation was total. The heavy shells tore the wooden hulls apart like papier maché, throwing a shower of wood chunks, torn canvas and punctured engine casing into the air. The shots that missed the boats with engines continued on by and chopped through the remainder, rendering the entire fleet beyond use.
I turned and sighted back on the pickup, and felt Tober settle and take a deep breath to steady himself.