‘I’ll go,’ said Steve. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘Right,’ said Sam. ‘And in combat gear, and covered in mud and blood, you’re really going to blend in.’
Steve fell silent. He knew she was right. ‘Be careful,’ he said.
‘I’ll have a black T-shirt and some jeans,’ said Nick with a rough grin. ‘And a baseball cap, if you’ve got one.’
‘Drainpipes, though,’ said Steve. ‘This unit’s not going to be seen dead in flares.’
‘And some shades,’ said Nick. ‘Police or Boss. Fakes, of course. No point in wasting money on the real thing.’
‘And some Armani boxer shorts for Maksie,’ said David. ‘He only wears designer, as I’m sure you can tell.’
‘And none of that fake Lacoste rubbish,’ said Ollie. ‘This unit has its standards. We’re not going into battle with a stupid grinning crocodile on our chests.’
Sam smiled. ‘I’ll see what we can do,’ she said.
Steve sat back under the tree. There was nothing to be done now except wait. He felt bad about letting her go, but Ganju would protect her if there was any trouble. The unit had been to hell and back twice now. He’d trust each man with his life. And with Sam’s as well.
Dan was checking Nick’s dressing, cleaning the wound again and applying a fresh bandage, not because he really needed it, but because it gave them a way of passing the time. Maksim and David were carving out a fresh staff. Ollie was kicking around suggestions for the stag night, along with Dan and Ian. The wedding was just a week away now, and for the first time in days, it looked like they might actually make it.
Steve lay back against the tree. He didn’t feel like talking, but wasn’t able to get back to sleep. Instead, he just looked out into the wilderness; the view stretched for at least a couple of miles. In the distance, he saw first a herd of elephants, and then giraffes, ambling through the empty land in search of fresh pastures. Deep within the interior of the wood, he could hear the yapping of the green monkeys that were common throughout this part of Africa.
Beautiful country, he thought again to himself. He knew Regiment boys who’d settled in Africa. One guy, Mick, was running tour boats, taking bankers out deep-sea fishing in Kenya. Another, Rick, was training the Nigerian Special Forces. And he could see the attraction. A man could lose himself in this kind of space. Find peace.
Maybe I should join them. Take Sam with me.
It was five in the afternoon by the time Sam and Ganju returned. Steve was just starting to get worried about her. They’d been gone almost two hours in total, more than enough time to get to the lake and back. They were carrying six bags, three each. She started to unpack. They’d bought ten pairs of fake Levis in a variety of different sizes, and a selection of T-shirts and sweatshirts in a range of colours. Some had logos on, and some didn’t. ‘And here’s a Liverpool shirt for you, Nick,’ said Sam, tossing it across.
‘What number?’
‘Eight, of course,’ said Sam. ‘You look like a Steve Gerrard fan to me.’
‘Bloody fantastic,’ said Nick, pulling the shirt on. ‘I’m taking this one home with me.’
Within minutes, the unit had changed into their new kit. The trousers were all baggy, and the shirts were all large, and by swapping them around, they managed to find outfits that fitted them well enough. They washed their faces, scraped some of the stubble from their chins using their knives, and slotted their dark glasses over their faces. They’d replaced their military boots with open-topped sandals, and Sam had bought a selection of guidebooks and plastic water bottles for them to carry in their hands. We look the part, thought Steve. All we need to do now is act it.
‘No rifles,’ said Ganju seriously. ‘We can hide the Enfields inside our trousers, but we can’t try and slip across the bridge with assault rifles under our arms.’
‘I’m not going anywhere without my weapon,’ growled Maksim.
‘Drop it, Maksie,’ snapped Steve. ‘If you want to fight your way out of here, you’re welcome to. But if we’re going through as tourists, we shouldn’t be carrying any obvious weapons.’
Each man checked that the chamber on his Enfield was fully loaded, then slipped the weapon inside his waistband. If they wore their sweatshirts loose, it wouldn’t create any noticeable bulge. They collected together some piles of leaves and broken branches, and hid the FNs underneath. If it turned into a scrap, they’d need them again., and they wanted to be able to find them.
‘Otherwise, one of the monkeys can find them,’ said Ian. ‘And turn himself into the king of the sodding jungle.’