‘Get a move on,’ yelled Ollie from the truck. ‘We haven’t the ammo to hold them much longer.’ He was holding himself steady in the back of the vehicle, using its steel panels for cover, and with his AK-47 loosening off round after round. But he was down to just five bullets left in the clip, and the rest of the boys weren’t in any better shape for supplies.
Once the ammo had gone, they’d just be target practice. And Ollie hated to think what the Sixth Brigade would do to the foreign mercenaries who had just murdered their President.
I’m saving one last bullet, he thought. And using it on myself if this all goes pear-shaped.
‘Bloody move!’ he screamed again, louder this time, his face red with anger.
‘Christ, mate, keep your knickers on!’ shouted Steve.
He levered himself into the driver’s seat, and looked straight at Nick. ‘Switch that thing off,’ he told him, nodding towards the HPES. Maksim was already clambering desperately into the cabin, landing on top of Nick, who’d already flicked the switch on the box. Steve turned the key in the ignition, bringing the truck shuddering to life.
On the top of the vehicle, Dan looked around at Ollie; you could tell he was worried. ‘I can’t hold these bastards much longer,’ he admitted, nodding down towards Wallace and Park. ‘We have to move out.’
Ollie could feel the truck heave and shake as the powerful diesel engine roared into life. We’re off, he thought to himself. Then he saw a pair of soldiers running hard towards them, spurred on by their Commander. He used up one bullet, then another, winging one man on the shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground, but leaving the other unharmed. ‘Shit,’ he muttered. The man was just yards away from the truck now. Two bullets left in the mag . . .
Ollie lined up a shot, putting it straight into the head of the advancing soldier, but it struck his helmet, glancing harmlessly away. The man was pulling a grenade from his chest webbing, raising it to his mouth to pull the pin. Grenades were the one device the unit had no defence against. It would blow the truck to smithereens, and the civilian casualties would be horrendous. Hundreds of the innocent bystanders on the Avenue would be killed. But it looked like the Sixth Brigade men didn’t care any more. Kapembwa was dead - the man who had looked after them for the last twenty years, and whom they had sworn their lives to defend.
And they’d exact their revenge, no matter how high the price.
At Ollie’s side, Ganju opened up with a blast of rapid fire. The soldier stopped as the bullets peppered his chest, throwing him backwards, and the grenade rolled away harmlessly into the panicking crowd, its pin still in place.
Ganju put the gun down. ‘I’m not wasting any more of this ammo,’ he said.
Down in the cabin, Steve blasted the ignition with the Uzi. The bullet lodged itself in the mechanics, chewing it up, but didn’t totally destroy it. He fired again, the noise of the gunfire echoing viciously around the enclosed space. The ignition was turned into a mess of hot charred metal, whilst the ricochet slammed backwards, missing Nick by only millimetres. The truck kept running. Steve slammed his foot hard on the accelerator, the engine revved up furiously, and the wheels started to churn forward.
‘Get it back on,’ he shouted to Nick.
Nick had already slammed his finger back on the HPES, its powerful signal transmitting across the Avenue. The high-energy pulse was silent, invisible, but snaked its way out across the ground like a shadowy mist. Behind him, Steve had already heard the pair of Land Rovers commanded by Wallace spring into life but then fall silent again as the pulse killed the electronics controlling their motors. But the truck kept on running. Only one problem, Steve reminded himself grimly. If she stalls we can’t start her again.
He slammed his left hand on the horn, trying to clear the mass of civilians running hysterically across the Avenue, and used his right to steer the truck forwards. Shooting out the ignition had also taken out the power steering, and the wheel was a bastard to move. Steve could feel the sweat pouring out of every inch of his body as he struggled to get the big heavy beast forwards. People were screaming, throwing themselves into the gutters to get out of the way. Steve just ignored them. Once he felt the wheels bounce across something, and he just prayed it wasn’t a person. I can’t worry about that now, he told himself. They’ve had their warning. And if they can’t get out of our way, that’s their problem. End of story.
‘Put your foot down, man!’ yelled Ollie from the back of the truck. Steve was steering the truck straight down Akwa Avenue. That would take them out of Ibera, past the National Stadium. From there, they would head due north, and keep on driving until they got back to civilisation. But there was still a long, hard journey ahead of them.