‘Light these, and push them out of the back, and it’s like a flying land mine,’ he said as Ollie helped him complete the loading. ‘It doesn’t just make a big bang. The casing of the extinguisher explodes, creating hundreds of shards of red-hot shrapnel flying in each direction. Aim it right, and it can slice up a whole platoon.’
By noon, everyone was assembled, their tasks completed and their kit ready. Sam had prepared them a meal to set them up for the journey. ‘More sausages and beans, I’m afraid,’ she said, serving the food onto the tin plates.
‘My favourite, anyway,’ said Ollie, jabbing his spoon into the hot food.
‘How old are these sausages exactly?’ asked Nick.
‘Older than you,’ said Sam.
‘Better-looking as well,’ added Steve.
Nick scowled but said nothing. On the shortwave radio, they caught the latest news bulletin from the BBC World Service. Reports of rioting were coming in from Ibera and Akwa, Batota’s two main cities, as the Army struggled to impose control following the assassination of President Kapembwa. In Akwa, at least twenty people had been reported killed after soldiers opened fire on demonstrators. The men listened in silence, finished their food, tidied away the mess so as to leave no trace of their presence in the cave, then swam ashore and climbed aboard the two Land Rovers. Steve took the wheel of one, with Nick, David and Sam as passengers. Ganju was driving the second, with Ollie, Maksim, Dan and Ian in the back.
‘Next stop, Piccadilly Circus,’ said Steve, slipping the Land Rover into first gear and starting the climb up the rugged track that twisted along the river. ‘And let’s hope to God we all make it.’
They drove the first hour mostly in silence. They were heading north-east, driving across open countryside, but keeping well away from any of the main roads, choosing instead the big, muddy lanes used by farmers - and still imprinted with the tyres of the tractors that had once worked the fields. But many of them were now overgrown, with weeds and brambles covering the route as the farms they had once served turned gradually back to wilderness. More than once, the convoy was brought to a complete stop where a track had become impassable, and Dan and Maksim had to climb out to hack a way through.
It was slow, hard driving. In total, they had to cover 100 miles to get up to the border, but they weren’t making more than fifteen miles an hour. The tracks never allowed them to get up any speed, and there were constant delays. But they were making good, steady progress and, most importantly, reflected Steve, they weren’t running into any trouble. They had skirted within a mile of a pair of small villages, certain that the Land Rovers had been seen, and they had three times passed small groups of women and children working on the fields, but none of them looked like they were going to confront two vehicles full of heavily armed men. And since there were no signs of any phone lines out here in the remote countryside, there wasn’t much chance of anyone reporting a sighting of some suspicious white men into the capital.
By dusk, they had made their way through The Front Lands, and were driving towards the wilder north of the country that ran up to Lake Hasta. On the map, Ganju had marked out Tshaka’s front line. They didn’t want to go too close to that territory either, and get snarled up in the front line, but they would have to slip through if they were to make it to the lake. By eight in the evening, they had completed almost eighty miles, with only another twenty to go. But Steve insisted they should stop and kip down for the night. There was no point in trying to drive through the darkness. Going over such rough tracks, they’d only end up damaging the vehicles, and then they’d have to walk out of the country.
Steve pulled his Land Rover into a small wood, followed by Ganju’s and they made a shelter as best they could. The clouds were heavy, and within an hour the rain was beating down on them. They slung up some tents, ate some dried food, and tried to get some sleep. By dawn, the Land Rovers were loaded again, and they were ready for the final leg of the journey. Ganju had mapped out a route for them that would take them up through the vast wilderness of Chikoota National Park. With any luck, they could skirt around Tshaka’s forces, and come out onto the lake close to Avalanche Falls. Once there, they could rent or steal a fishing boat, and get clear away into Tuka.
By ten in the morning, they were entering the eastern edges of the national park, and the only part of its nearly 15,000 square kilometres open to the public. Originally a vast wilderness of bush and scrub, Chikoota was too dry for any form of sustained agriculture. In the 1920s, a series of big water bores had been drilled into the ground to allow animals to live there during the long dry season, and since then the park had been filled with lions, elephants, giraffes, zebra, wildebeest, waterbuck, sable, impala, kudu and buffalo. There were lodges and campsites dotted throughout the park, but Chikoota was a reserve for serious big-game spotters. It didn’t have the scenery or facilities for busloads of families on safari trips. And, during the rainy season, it was all but deserted.