Fire Force(24)

Steve took the beer Chris had just offered him and sat down on the porch. In most of South Africa, grain was planted around January, and at this time of year, the fields had just been cleared and the earth turned. You could smell the soil on the dry, dusty breeze, its aroma rich and fertile and earthy. As he looked around the farm, it reminded him of the garage he’d bought from his uncle: a place where a man could put down some roots and find himself some honest, peaceful work. For when the fighting was over.

‘Working out OK up here?’ he asked Chris.

The other man nodded, taking a hit of his own beer. ‘Better than I could have hoped,’ he said. ‘Grain prices have been soaring, and we’ve started planting some of the crops used for biofuels, so we’re beginning to make some decent money. It’s going to be OK this time around, I can tell.’

He rested his beer bottle in his hand and looked straight at Steve. ‘There’s a job, isn’t there?’

Steve nodded. He glanced around. A pair of workmen were putting a tractor away but they were out of earshot. ‘President Kapembwa,’ he answered. ‘There’s some guys who want him finished off . . . and we’ve taken the gig.’

‘The man’s a bloody bastard,’ spat Chris. ‘He deserves it.’

‘You’re our Steven Gerrard - the first name we want to put on the team sheet,’ said Ollie. ‘You know this territory and how to fight your way through it better than any other man we know.’

Chris paused. He was a big man, with dark hair and strong bull-like features, and murky blue eyes that hid what he was thinking. There were a couple of tattoos on his thick forearms, and he was swatting a fly away from one of them.

‘I’d like to go, boys.’

And yet in the tone of his voice you could hear a but, noticed Steve.

The door to the kitchen opened, and a women stepped out, carrying a tray with some sandwiches and some crisps on it as well as three more bottles of beer. Thanking her, Ollie grabbed one of the sandwiches hungrily, eating it in a couple of bites.

‘This is my wife, Cissy,’ said Chris proudly.

Steve looked at the woman. It took a moment for him to adjust. She wasn’t what he’d expected. The Recces were fine soldiers, and there was no man he’d rather have alongside him in a foxhole than Chris, but they weren’t known for their commitment to multiculturalism. The girl must have had something special to get Chris to try and make a mixed marriage work.

From the kitchen, a baby started to cry. Cissy disappeared inside, and within seconds reemerged. A three-month-old boy was suckling at her breast. ‘This is Mike,’ said Chris.

Again, you could hear the pride in his voice.

Cissy excused herself, slipping back into the kitchen to change the baby’s nappy.

‘You’ve got a good set-up here,’ said Steve.

Chris nodded, took a sandwich and chewed on it in the slow thoughtful way an ox chews on a bale of hay. ‘So when do we start?’

Steve met Ollie’s eye. There was no need to discuss it; they both knew what they were thinking.

‘This job is too dangerous for a man who’s just had a kid,’ said Steve flatly.

Chris looked straight at him, the surprise evident in his eyes. ‘Of course it’s bloody dangerous! You think I don’t know that?’

‘Mike needs you, Cissy needs you,’ said Ollie.

Chris took a swig of his beer. ‘Mike needs a dad who goes out into the world and fights for what he believes in,’ he said firmly. ‘And I believe Kapembwa is a right evil bastard, and if there’s a bullet heading his way I want to be on the team that’s holding the gun.’

‘We’ve got a plan, and we think it’s a good one,’ said Steve. ‘But that kid needs a dad.’

‘I’ll be all right.’

Steve shook his head. Out in Afghanistan, they’d lost Jeff, and he’d been one of Steve’s best mates. He’d had to go and talk to his mum and explain to her what had happened to her son, and it had been one of the worst days of Steve’s life.

‘I’m not going to be the guy who has to tell Cissy she’s bringing up that boy by herself,’ said Steve. He stood up and started to walk towards the car.

Chris grabbed the sleeve of his shirt.

‘I told you, I’ll be all right,’ he growled. ‘I know how to fight in the bloody bush better than any man alive or dead.’

‘You’re not coming,’ said Steve, pulling himself free. ‘And that’s final.’





Eleven

THE PARTY LOOKED TO BE in full swing by the time Steve and Ollie returned to the mansion. It had taken them a couple of hours to get back to the airport, an hour while the jet cleared for take-off, then a forty-minute flight to Cape Town. It was past ten at night. The rest of the unit looked to have eaten well, and were getting down to some serious drinking. Nick had moved on from the Stella to vodka shots, and was reminding Maksie that the Welsh knew even more about hard boozing than the Russians. Ian was sampling a glass of vintage Bushmills and Bruce was working his way through the South African reds. There were five girls with them, two blondes and three brunettes, each of them in their early twenties, wearing short denim skirts, knocking back cocktails, and dancing around to the music.