The soldier started shouting at them to stop, waving his gun angrily in the air. They were 150 yards away before he realised the truck wasn’t going to obey him. And 100 yards before he’d made his decision to retaliate.
‘Get your heads down, boys,’ yelled Ollie on the back of the truck.
Good advice, thought Steve. He nodded towards Ian. ‘Cover her,’ he said tersely.
Ian grabbed hold of Sam and pushed her down onto the floor of the cabin. She stifled a scream, but offered no resistance as he lay down on top of her in the cramped space.
The first round of gunfire was loud and sharp, hitting the bumpers, then the bonnet, then smashing into the windscreen. The glass fragmented into 1,000 pieces, sending a shower of shrapnel sprinkling through the cabin. Steve closed his eyes and held the wheel steady. He could feel a piece of glass nick the side of his shoulder, and some warm blood start to ooze out of the wound. He ignored the pain, and opened his eyes again.
It takes real guts to stand in front of a truck hurtling towards you at seventy-five miles an hour and still shoot straight, decided Steve, looking at the soldier now only thirty yards in front of him. And this boy doesn’t have it.
Sure enough, the young man threw himself onto the side of the road, just as the truck’s front bumper collided with the road block. The wood from which it was constructed was sturdy enough, but it was no match for the ton of metal barrelling into it. It crunched and splintered. The soldier diving out of the way was delivered a glancing blow, knocked senseless, and left on the side of the road. Steve could feel the vehicle shudder from the impact. He kept his fists gripped to the wheel, and eased his foot off the accelerator a touch to stop the truck from skidding as it smashed across the broken wood.
The road ahead was open, and clear, heading straight north.
At the side of the road, the remaining soldiers had opened fire with their AK-47s, but the truck was already disappearing into the distance. Dan had lined up a shot into the ranks, but as the truck disappeared into the distance, decided there was no point in wasting a bullet when ammunition was in such short supply.
Sam looked up, brushing the shards of broken glass away from her back. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked nervously.
‘Anywhere,’ said Steve. ‘So long as it isn’t here.’
Forty-Two
YOU COULD HEAR THE BLADES of the chopper before you could see it.
Steve took the truck down a gear. They’d covered thirty miles since the roadblock and so far, the road had mostly been clear. They’d passed a few small villages and farms, and a motorbike had scurried out of their way, but none of the people they’d passed had wanted to confront a truck full of desperate-looking soldiers.
But Wallace had a fleet of choppers at his disposal, Steve reminded himself. And there was no doubt that he’d use them to track down the men who’d just killed the President.
As the engine noise dipped, Steve heard a sound that made his nerves tighten. They were driving along a side road that led up to Hwanga, a small farming town first founded by Portuguese elephant hunters. He leaned from the window so he could hear it more clearly: the rotorblades on a big helicopter gunship. A Chinese Z-10 maybe, or a Russian Mi-24. One thing is for certain, he told himself. I don’t want to get close enough to find out.
He looked up at the road ahead. A dirt track led down to an abandoned farm, and there was a small copse of woodland where he could pull the truck up and take cover from anything tracking them from the sky. Taking the truck down to second, he steered it under a canopy of trees and let the engine idle, keeping his foot lightly pressed on the accelerator to make sure there were enough revs to keep it from stalling.
Ollie had already jumped down and was leaning through the window. ‘Stopping for a nice cup of tea, are we?’ he asked, ‘Maybe we’ll get a Full English while we’re at it. I’ll have my eggs fried please.’
Ian and Maksim had already walked to the edge of the wood to get a clearer view. There were dark clouds across the sky: so far the rain had held off for more than a day, but it would be back soon.
‘That’s an Mi-24,’ said Maksim, walking back to the truck. ‘I’d recognise the sound of the engine anywhere. We used them in Afghanistan mainly. Shaitan-Arba, that’s what the Mujahideen called them. Satan’s Chariot. The right word for them as well. An Mi-24 can deliver death from anywhere.’
‘What’s its capability?’ asked Ian.
‘It can fly at high altitudes, just like the Alouette we used on the fort,’ said Maksim. ‘You can put any kit you like on it, but they usually carry rockets and Gatling guns. They can swoop down on their targets and destroy them with ease.’