Mercenary (22 page)

‘Louisa! You stay there.’

She nodded, clenching her fists with the tension.

Victor whistled at the Indians as he reached the edge of the small wood and beckoned them to follow him.

Stratton headed down the slope towards the road. Victor reached the side of the rise, saw Stratton and broke into a sprint towards him.

Halfway to the river Stratton turned to walk parallel to it, away from the bridge and towards the oncoming convoy.

He squatted in some foliage and studied the road while Victor caught up. ‘Which one of your boys is the best shot?’ he asked when the Frenchman arrived out of breath.

Victor shrugged. ‘They’re both good.’

‘Then we’ll use them both. I need this convoy stopped well short of the bridge,’ Stratton said. ‘They have to shoot out one of the tyres of the front vehicle.’

‘But Chemora’s men will see the arrows sticking out of the wheel,’ Victor argued. ‘They’ll know that someone has attacked them.’

‘They’ll see a couple of Indians’ arrows. What are they going to do, call in an air strike? Get out of there as soon as the arrows hit the tyres. If they can’t see you they won’t come after you.’

‘You’re so sure?’

‘No. But who’s going to chase a couple of crazy Indians around the countryside when there’re places to go, things to do?’

Victor’s breathing was rapid, adrenalin coursing through his veins. He realised Stratton was studying him. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

Stratton had been wondering if Victor was up to it but he smiled to reassure the man. ‘You’re a good guy, Victor. I’m glad you’re here.’

‘You just want my company when they hang us,’ the Frenchman said. He looked from the convoy to the bridge. ‘I don’t suppose we have any other choice.’

‘Or any more time,’ Stratton added.

Victor understood. He faced the two young men and explained what he needed of them. A moment later all three set off towards the river.

‘I’ll be back at the firing point,’ Stratton called out.

‘I’ll see you there,’ Victor said, hurrying to catch up with Kebowa and Mohesiwa.

Stratton gave the convoy a last look before heading back, this time at the crouch, conscious that the slope would soon be in visual range of the lead truck’s passengers.

When he reached the rise Louisa was crouched behind the ridge from where she had been watching him. ‘Can I ask what we’re doing?’

‘We need to delay the convoy to give David and Bernard more time.’

Her nervousness grew. The ambush had begun in earnest and there were already complications.

‘Still glad you came?’ Stratton asked.

‘Don’t make fun of me. You’re so comfortable in your world. I’m glad I’m seeing it. In some ways it allows me to understand my father a little better. I often saw the planning and the aftermath but never the dreadful deeds themselves.’

Louisa watched Stratton remove the magazine from his assault rifle, pull back the working parts to extract the bullet that was in the chamber, give the mechanism a quick check and reload the weapon. He then gave his pistol an equivalent once-over and replaced it in his holster.

The gap between the lead truck and the bridge was closing. David and Bernard were scaling the side of the bridge.

‘Steel said the rebellion depended on the success of this ambush,’ Stratton said. ‘Right now that success depends on the arrows of a couple of Indians.’

 

Victor followed Kebowa and Mohesiwa at a crouching run through the sparse brush. He had never done anything as dangerous as this before. His natural inclination was to worry about what could go wrong but he forced the thoughts out of his head. There was no point to them any more. He was going to carry out the crazy task. The rest of the operation depended on it.

He was suddenly concerned that they were getting too close to the road and worried that the Indians had misunderstood the plan. He made a series of mouth clicks and whistles in order to halt them. When they stopped he sought their assurance that they had understood what was required. Victor had never become fluent in their language and neither had they in his. But there had never been a more critical moment where they could ill afford to get it wrong. They explained with a combination of words and gestures that such a shot was not as easy as Victor might think. They had to hit a moving target and not a very big one at that.

The sound of the trucks’ engines grew louder as the convoy approached and Victor peered through the foliage to get a look at the lead vehicle. It was a truck filled with soldiers. The repercussions of screwing up suddenly became even more scary. He visualised the men leaning over the side of the vehicle and shooting at them like hunters in a gallery.

The Indians wanted to get even closer and crept forward to the river bank where the vegetation ended. They had a quick confab about something that Victor gathered was to do with crossing the river to ensure an even cleaner shot. A glance at the convoy warned him that they did not have the time and then, as if the Indians had come to the same conclusion, they both placed arrows to the strings of their bows and trained them on the approaching truck. It was a long shot and for the first time Victor began to doubt their skills.

The vehicle behind the lead truck was an open jeep carrying four men. Behind that came another truck but in the middle of the convoy one vehicle caught his attention. It was a highly polished black Mercedes sedan with a small flag flapping on top of the front wheel arch.

Victor swallowed with nervousness. Getting caught by these animals was a horrifying prospect. The stark reality of the situation struck him: if this went wrong his life would end here in this valley. He saw himself being hung and then realised that there was no tree tall enough, which meant he would more than likely be shot - unless they hung him from the bridge, of course. That would probably be the result, he decided.

He hoped he looked as calm as the two Indian boys did and wondered if they were frightened at all. They drew back their bows as they brought the arrows up on aim in perfect sync. Victor practically stopped breathing. He wondered what he might do if the arrows missed. If the convoy drove onto the bridge, would Stratton allow it to pass unhindered or would he detonate the explosives, thus killing David and Bernard? It was pointless to wonder. He
had
to succeed. Victor gripped his AK47 and rested his forefinger on the trigger.

As the truck moved directly in front of them,Victor’s gaze flicked between the Indians and the target tyre. The wait was excruciating. He almost cried out for them to shoot. Then one of them loosed his arrow and before it had landed the other followed. Both struck the tyre either side of the hub.

The wheel continued to turn with the arrows sticking out of it and for a painful moment Victor’s worst fears seemed to come true. He brought his gun up against his shoulder and swallowed hard. He moistened his lips, levelled the AK47 against his cheek and lined up its sights on the tyre. As he began to squeeze the trigger the sight picture changed and the tyre burst.

The truck’s brakes squealed noisily and the heavy vehicle came to a stop. Victor lowered his assault rifle and began to breathe again.

The convoy slowed to a halt as the driver of the lead truck opened his door and jumped to the ground. He paused when he saw the two arrows, uncertain if his eyes were deceiving him, and moved closer to inspect them.

He called out to the men in the jeep behind.

Victor tapped the Indians on their backs and signalled them to get going. They followed as he scurried away from the river as low to the ground as he could.

Stratton saw the strike through his binoculars and turned his attention to David and Bernard crawling along the bridge’s top span towards the dangling claymore.

When Stratton looked back at the convoy the men from the jeep were at the front of the truck with the driver who was pointing at the arrows. They were all wearing army uniforms and were no doubt officers.

Stratton searched the ground for Victor and saw him and the Indians making steady progress back towards him. A shot suddenly sounded and the three men dropped to their bellies.

Stratton hurriedly aimed his binoculars back at the truck to see one of the officers aiming a pistol in Victor’s general direction. The man fired again. There were two trucks full of soldiers and Stratton feared the men might clamber out and cross the river. If so it would mean a hasty retreat for everyone who could get to the horses in time.

Stratton nearly told Louisa to get ready to run to her horse but decided to hold off for a moment longer, wondering why the officer was not using his troops if he could see Victor.

One of the other men from the jeep pointed elsewhere and the one who was shooting followed his suggestion and fired in that direction. It was evident that they had not in fact seen Victor or the Indians and the officer with the pistol was simply shooting at random.

The driver of the Mercedes climbed out and went to the passenger door behind him. He opened it and a man got out and stood by the car. Stratton studied him through the binoculars. He looked to be in his fifties and wore smart civilian clothes.

Stratton held the binoculars out to Louisa. ‘You know what Chemora looks like?’

‘I met him once when I was young,’ she replied, taking the glasses and looking through them. ‘He came to our house. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me. He was disgusting . . . That’s him,’ she confirmed.

Chemora surveyed the scene calmly as one of the officers hurried down the line of vehicles to him. They had a brief conversation and Chemora climbed back inside the sedan.

The officer blew a whistle and waved towards the back of the column as he called out some orders. This was followed by shouts and gesticulations from the other men. Louisa focused the binoculars on a truck near the rear of the column. People were climbing out of the open back but they were civilians - not just men but women and children too. Soldiers were gesturing for them to move quickly towards the front of the convoy.

‘My God,’ Louisa gasped.

Stratton took the glasses from her and had a look for himself. ‘Civilians?’

‘They must be his first batch of victims,’ she said. ‘The ones he’s going to hang.’

A soldier herded the peasants along the length of the convoy towards the truck with the flat tyre. The driver opened a box on the side of the truck and the peasants took tools from it. Some set about placing a jack beneath the truck while others unscrewed the bolts securing the wheel. The soldiers inside the truck watched them.

An old man removed the spare wheel from beneath the tailgate and rolled it along the side of the truck. He got a swift kick from an officer and lost control of the wheel which ran over the boot of another officer. The officer who had kicked the man went ballistic and he set about the peasant, kicking and slapping him. He begged for mercy while trying to protect himself. The officer was obviously not getting enough satisfaction and reached for his pistol but it got stuck in its holster. The old peasant panicked and, realising his likely fate, made a run for it. He leapt down the embankment towards the river.

One of the officers cried out something that caused laughter among the other men, which served only to enrage the angry officer further. He finally managed to get his gun out of its holster and took a shot at the man, who by now was almost at the river. He missed, and the bullet struck the water, causing more laughter among the soldiers.

A shrill scream followed as a woman broke from the group to go to the old man. As he waded across the river the angry officer took a steady aim and fired again. The old man fell beneath the water but surfaced immediately and lurched on.

Another officer decided to show his colleague how it should be done and, taking a rifle from one of the soldiers in the truck, aimed it and fired at the woman as she reached the water. The sound of the shot was much louder than the noise made by the pistol, the bullet far more powerful in its impact. It struck her in the back and blood exploded from her chest as it went right through her. But it did not kill her outright and she staggered forward.

The other officers joined in the entertainment, pulling their pistols and sending bullet after bullet into the couple until they both went still, face down in the water, blood oozing from the holes in their bodies.

This inspired another witty comment from one of the officers that was greeted by laughter from the others.

Louisa buried her face in her hands, horrified beyond belief.

Stratton put an arm around her and she clung to him. ‘What kind of people are they?’ she asked as if it were not possible to reach such depths of inhumanity.

‘The kind that aren’t going to see another dawn,’ Stratton said grimly.

Louisa looked into his face. His expression as he stared at the officers was as cold as ice, the resolve in his eyes absolute. It was frightening and she let go of him. ‘You can’t set off those explosives now,’ she said. ‘What about those people?’

Stratton turned to see Victor coming up the rise at a crouching run. Kebowa and Mohesiwa remained below, looking at Stratton as if awaiting their next order.

Victor dropped onto his back beside Stratton, panting heavily from the effort. ‘Did you see those bastards?’ he growled, inspecting the cuts and grazes on his hands. The knees of his trousers were torn and spotted with blood.

Stratton focused on the bridge. David and Bernard had fixed the mine and were sliding along the top spar back the way they had come. Another check of the convoy showed that the punctured wheel had been replaced and the nuts were being tightened.

‘I asked you about those people,’ Louisa said to Stratton, her voice firm.

Victor had not thought of that. ‘Perhaps it would be more humane than what awaits them,’ he said.