‘Looks like the gallows can wait, boys,’ he said, with a tight smile.
‘We’re not through this yet,’ said David.
‘I’ve got three bullets in my clip,’ said Dan. ‘How about you?’
‘Two,’ said David.
‘Five,’ said Ganju.
The Ghurkha was always the most precise marksman among them, noted Ollie. It was part of their tradition. They didn’t waste any ammo.
‘And you?’ Ganju enquired of Ollie.
‘Two,’ he replied crisply. ‘That gives us twelve rounds between us.’
‘Great. And only a whole sodding country to get through,’ said Dan.
Ollie glanced backwards. Wallace and Park were stranded in their Land Rovers, but they had made contact with the main body of troops, who were starting to co-ordinate a fight back. One squadron of five men was running hard towards them, firing on automatic, but their bullets were hitting the tarmac or pinging harmlessly off the back of the truck. They were aiming for the tyres, Ollie knew, but so far they’d missed. Another pair of men were pulling the pins on their hand grenades, then lobbing them high into the air. Ollie watched the arc of each one with mounting dread, following its trajectory, but then breathing out again as he realised they were going to land thirty yards short of the truck. The grenades exploded, the crack of the detonation whipping through the air, killing at least two civilians and injuring a dozen more. The explosions were causing yet more mayhem, but it was clear that Wallace didn’t care about collateral damage.
‘We need to hide,’ Ollie yelled down to Steve.
Taking his left hand off the horn, Steve wiped the sweat from his face. There was dirt and blood covering the windscreen, but with the electronics all down, the wipers were no longer working. The crowds had cleared off the road now, and he could pick up speed. The truck started to climb through twenty, then thirty miles an hour.
But then he saw her. A blonde woman running along the side of the road, waving at them frantically.
Sam.
‘Christ,’ muttered Steve out loud. He tapped his foot on the brake, slowing the truck. His heart was thumping in his chest. If it stalled, they were done for.
‘What the—’ started Nick at his side.
Steve nodded towards Sam.
The truck was slowing down to fifteen then ten miles an hour. Glancing in the wing mirrors, Steve could see that the soldiers running behind them were starting to close the gap. He threw the door open.
Grabbing hold of her wrist, he hauled Sam into the cabin. In the same instant, he slammed his foot hard on the accelerator, pushed the gear up into third, and started to coax the maximum power out of the big diesel engine. Sam was lying breathless across his lap, but he pushed her towards Nick, Maksim and Ian. It was a tight squeeze in the cabin, but they could worry about that later.
For now, he told himself, we just have to escape.
He swerved violently. There was a road heading right just before the stadium. Steve had no idea where it was leading, but at least it would take them away from Wallace and the rest of the army. He kept his foot hard on the floor, pushing the truck up to fifty, then sixty miles an hour. It was literally flying across the open tarmac.
But up ahead there was a roadblock.
It was marked by a single sentry post, made from roughly painted wood, and next to it was a unit of six soldiers. They had put a wooden barrier across the road, and were pulling aside any vehicles that tried to get past them, asking the drivers for their papers.
Keeping his foot hard on the accelerator, Steve took the truck up to seventy. The roadblock was another half-mile ahead of them on a wide, open road that ran straight through the flat bushland.
‘Ian - what kind of kit have they got?’ he demanded.
The Irishman was leaning forward, getting as close a look as possible as the vehicle hurtled and bounced across the road.
‘AKs.’
‘Any RPGs?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘Then I’ll just swerve right past them,’ said Steve.
Ian shook his head. ‘You’ll risk a puncture on that surface and we haven’t got time to deal with that. Just drive straight through them.’
Steve gripped tighter onto the steering wheel. At his side, Sam was shaking nervously, but he ignored her. He’d already told her to tuck herself away safely in a five-star hotel: if she wasn’t going to take advice, then that was her problem.
‘Let’s give them the good news,’ he said, his tone fierce with determination.
Steadying the truck in the centre of the road, he kept the accelerator jammed to the floor. One soldier had already stepped out into the centre of the road, flagging them down with his right arm. The others were idly talking to each other by the side of their sentry post. The road block was still 300 yards away but they were closing fast. The soldier flagged again, more decisively, but Steve just ignored him, keeping the truck steady in the centre of the road. It had settled into a top speed of seventy-five miles an hour, and no matter how hard he pushed it, Steve could tell he wasn’t going to drag any more power out of the engine. Doesn’t matter, he told himself. We’re going fast enough to break through.