Defender(34)

Thick, black smoke enveloped Morgan. He began to choke and cough, flames licking at every inch that surrounded his shelter. The wind howled through the gaping end of the building, fuelling the flames and urging the toxic smoke on to cut off his only path of escape. Morgan made a dash for the door, when a mass oflive electrical cabling whipped savagely about him in sporadic, frenzied surges, spitting deadly bolts of artificial lightning in every direction. He was forced back behind cover.

Morgan was nauseous, his eyes raw with the stinging effects of the toxic smoke, and his throat as dry as sand. "Jesus!" he gasped, pulling the folds of his shirt collar up around his mouth and nose, struggling to breathe. Morgan knew that he wouldn't survive if he remained under the desk. He'd become trapped, killed by the fire, smoke or the next barrage of incoming mortars. Worse still, he could end up embroiled in a gun battle with the advancing troops, holding out for only as long as his few magazines of ammunition would allow, before being butchered -not a scenario that he found particularly appealing. He remembered the dry comments of an old Sergeant Major who'd been training him as a young officer, 'There's always someone worse off than you, Mister Morgan.'

"Where?" mused Morgan, under his breath.

Thankfully, in a bizarre turn of luck, another wave of mortars finally marked the end of the power supply, and the demonic cabling retracted, falling uselessly to the floor. Seizing the moment, Morgan was on his feet in a flash, sprinting through the smoke and fire to the only safe exit, straight for the helicopter.





CHAPTER 22





"Alex!" Steve Mason, at the controls of the Puma, was struggling to maintain a safe hover as shockwaves from the explosions buffeted the chopper. Clumps of concrete, vehicle wreckage and shrapnel peppered the air and Mason had been forced to pull away from the helipad too many times to avoid the debris, while he and the others waited for Turner and Morgan. "Quick, somebody get him on board!"

Mason knew Turner had been the problem. Everybody did. He was a notorious pain in the arse, and had been since taking over the site nine months ago. But he was one of the new big names in the firm, and leaving him behind wasn't an option. They'd all seen Morgan go back for him. But now that Turner was finally aboard, Mason knew that he couldn't leave Morgan behind. He knew the others felt the same way, although the stress was starting to take its toll. It was only a matter of time before panic set in and reason was thrown out. Some evacuees were already screaming hysterically with every explosion. Soon they'd demand that Mason lift off and take them to safety, whether Morgan was aboard or not. After all, Morgan knew the risks. That was his job. Better to lose one, than lose them all.

With black smoke billowing from the doorway and the walls collapsing around him, Morgan rushed from the flaming building and fell heavily to the ground, clutching his rifle, retching.

"Sewa!" cried Mason to the local security guard closest to the open rear door. "Get out there, man. Get him on board!"

Sewa dropped from the cargo hold without hesitation, and ran 50 metres to where Morgan lay. He took hold of Morgan under the shoulders, heaving him to his feet.

Back on-board, Arena Halls attempted to clamber from the cargo hold over the top of the others, struggling to get out and follow Sewa to Morgan. "No, Ari!" Mason yelled from the cockpit. "I need you on-board, not

out there. Please."

Arena stared back at Mason through wide-open eyes, strain etched across her face. Her knuckles were white, clutching at the doorframe. She looked back out to Morgan and then back to Mason, fighting her instinct to leap out. Mason shook his head at her. She turned, braced by the door, and watched as Sewa finally reached the motionless figure on the ground.

"Major Alex! It's me, Sir," Sewa yelled over the bedlam. Morgan slowly came back to life. "Quick, we got to get back to the chopper," urged Sewa.

Still dazed, recognition slowly came back to Morgan. He cast a familiar eye over Sewa's sweat-streaked features. The irrepressible smile, even in the middle of a mortar attack, was unmistakable.

"Sewa," coughed Morgan, sucking in deep lungs full of hot air. 'I'm OK, mate. I'm OK. Let's go." Then, they were running. The big African moving fast, dragging Morgan along with ease.

A wall of mortars fell upon them. The shriek of descending death was deafening, raining down upon the building Morgan had left behind seconds before. It was pulverised instantly. As the blast wave reached them, both were punched to the ground.

Morgan knew that the thick mushroom cloud of toxic smoke pouring from the wreckage of the headquarters would at least obscure a clear line of sight from the rebels to the chopper. But their aim was deadly, and when Morgan saw how close the mortars were falling to the diesel and LPG tanks nearby, he knew he couldn't afford to waste any time. Ifthe tanks blew, the blast would incinerate everything within 200 yards, including the Puma and everybody on-board.