Kotane felt his pulse starting to race as he flicked the first switch on the little white box in his hand. One of the lights flashed green. The box was transmitting.
His world narrowed to a single point on the tracks. Ten seconds. Five.
Four. Three … The front of the Blue Train’s engine flashed into view at the edge of his peripheral vision. Now!
Kotane flicked the second switch.
One hundred kilos of plastic explosive layered along the railroad tracks detonated directly under the engine-tipping it off the tracks in a ragged, billowing cloud of orange-red flame and coal-black smoke. Pieces of torn and twisted rail spun end over end high through the air before crashing back to earth.
Shocked by the power of the explosion he’d unleashed, Kotane sat unmoving as the blast-mangled locomotive slammed into the ground at an angle and cartwheeled downhill, smashing every tree and rock in its path.
The rest of the Blue Train went with it-blown and pulled off the track in a deadly, grinding tangle of torn metal, shattered glass, and flying debris. Car after car went rolling, tumbling, and sliding down toward the valley floor.
A rising curtain of dust cloaked the wreckage as Kotane’s hearing returned.
He scrambled to his feet and ran toward the railroad tracks with Sebe close behind. The younger man still held his unfired RPG-7. Thirteen more ANC guerrillas rose from their own hiding places and followed them, seven armed with AK-47s, two more carrying grenade launchers, and four men lugging a pair of bipod-mounted light machine guns.
Kotane skidded to a stop just short of the tracks and stared down at a scene that might have leaped out of hell itself. The Blue Train’s cars were heaped one on top of the other-some ripped wide open and others crushed almost beyond recognition. Bodies and pieces of bodies were strewn across the hillside, intermingled with smashed suitcases, bloodstained tablecloths and bedding, and fragments of fine china. Greasy black smoke eddied from half a dozen small fires scattered throughout the wreckage.
It seemed impossible that anyone could still be alive down there.
Kotane’s eyes narrowed. Better to make sure of that while they still had the chance. The Afrikaner security forces would soon be on their way here.
He turned to the men bunched around him and yelled, “Don’t just stand there! Fire! Use your damned weapons!”
Sebe was the first to react. His rocket-propelled grenade ripped a new hole in one of the mangled sleeping cars and
exploded in a brief shower of flame. Then the other guerrillas opened up, flaying the ruined train with a hail of bullets and fragmentation grenades.
David Kotane watched in morbid satisfaction as his men systematically walked their fire down the length of what had once been South Africa’s
Blue Train.
There were no survivors.
CHAPTER 4
Dead Reckoning
JUNE 28-DIRECTORATE OF MILITARY INTELLIGENCE, PRETORIA
REACTION FORCE BRAVO TWO
OP COM 3/87: 1622 HRS
Message begins: TO DMI-1. RECCE TEAM RE
PORTS TRACKING ENEMY FORCE NUMBERING 10—20 MEN MOVING NNE ON FOOT.
PER SPECIAL ORDERS, NO DIRECT
CONTACT
INITIATED. PURSUIT UNITS STANDING BY. AMBUSH SITE NOW SECURE.
TRAIN
DESTROYED REPEAT, DESTROYED. LIST OF IDENTIFIED DEAD FOLLOWS. Message ends.
Erik Muller laid the message form aside and quickly skimmed through the list of those known to be dead. He was careful to keep the expression of shocked dismay on his face as he read. It was vital that even his most trusted subordinates
believe the news of this brutal guerrilla attack came as a complete surprise to him.
In truth, it wasn’t terribly difficult for Muller to look surprised.
Broken Covenant had produced results far beyond his wildest expectations.
The President, the ministers of defense, foreign affairs, transport, energy, and education, and dozens of other high-ranking officials were all confirmed dead, apparent victims of a vicious and unprovoked ANC ambush. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Once the last few loose ends had been tidied up, Vorster’s path to power would be clear.
His phone rang. He picked it up in mid ring
“Yes?”
“Communications Section, sir. I have a radio voice transmission from
Bravo Two Alpha. Shall I patch him through to your line?”
“Of course.” Muller’s fingers tightened around the phone. Had something gone wrong?
Static hissed and whined in the background.
“Bravo Two Alpha to Delta
Mike India One. Over.”
Muller grimaced. Military jargon held little appeal for him. It lacked all elegance.
“Go ahead, Captain Bekker. Make your report. 11
“Roger, One.” Bekker’s voice was flat, all trace of emotion erased by years of rigorous training and combat experience.
“The terrorists have gone to ground in a small copse of trees approximately seven kilometers north of the railroad. “
Muller glanced quickly at the map. It showed a tangle of steep, rugged ridges, boulder fields, ravines, and isolated thickets. Nightmarish terrain for men moving on foot. It was amazing that the ANC’s guerrillas had gotten as far as they had.
“What’s your evaluation? Do they know your men are following?”
Bekker didn’t hesitate.
“Probably. They’ve certainly heard or seen our helicopters by now.”
Muller didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
“Then why have they stopped?”
“They’re waiting for nightfall, Director.” The captain spaced his words out, almost as if he were talking to a small child. It was clear that he didn’t like having to report to a civilian-even to a civilian so high up in the ranks of the security forces.
“Once the sun sets, they’ll scatter-each man trying to make his own way out.”
“Could any succeed?”
“One or two might make it. The ground here is so broken that even our nightvision gear will have trouble spotting them. “
Muller stiffened. He couldn’t afford to let any of the ANC assault team escape. Close questioning by their superiors might raise too many inconvenient questions.
“I see. Then what’s your recommendation,
Captain?”
For the first time, a hint of barely suppressed excitement crept into
Bekker’s voice.
“We should attack them now, before it grows dark. I can have my troops in position within half an hour.”
Muller nodded to himself. These soldiers might be boorish, but at least they were usually efficient.
“Permission granted. You may use whatever methods you think best.”
He lowered his voice a notch.
“I have only one condition, Captain Bekker.
“Yes, sir?”
“I want them all dead.”
That wasn’t quite accurate. The kill order actually emanated from
Vorster. Muller would have preferred keeping several of the terrorists alive for show trials. The minister, though, wanted to demonstrate South
Africa’s willingness to utterly crush its enemies. But would the soldiers go along with such a scheme?
Muller cleared his throat.
“Do you understand me, Captain?”
Static hissed over the line for several seconds before Bekker answered,
“Quite clearly, Director. You don’t want any prisoners. “
“That’s correct.” Muller paused and then asked, “Does that present a problem for you?”