Fire Force(50)

The sooner we are out of this madhouse the better.





Twenty

THE SKIES WERE CLEAR AND blue as the Cessna Skymaster flew due north over the wide open countryside. Steve had been looking down as the farmland and forest outside Ibera faded into the wilder bush country, then at the great blue expanse of Lake Hasta. All the time, he was judging his bearings, mapping the geography or the territory so that it was stamped on his brain. From tomorrow, they’d be fighting their way through this country. The more they knew about it, the better.

‘The lake!’ shouted Wallace, straining to make himself heard over the roar of the engine and the rush of the wind outside.

The single-engine aircraft had space for five passengers. Wallace was at the controls, with Steve, Dan, Ian, Nick and Ganju riding alongside, while David flew Ollie and the rest of the unit up-country in the Alouette. They had driven up to the airfield at first light, all of them anxious to get up north and crack on with the mission. From what they’d seen last night, they’d agreed the sooner they stopped working for Wallace, and got the man who paid his wages safely into his coffin, the better. They were mercenaries, and they didn’t mind killing men if they had to, so long as the rules were clear and they deserved the malleting. But Wallace . . . he’d strayed into psycho territory.

We’re all feeling the worse for wear, decided Steve. And it’s not the local rum making us feel that way.

It’s the job.

Wallace pulled on the throttle and the Cessna shook violently as it started to drop a couple of thousand feet through the sky. Steve gripped the side of the plane as it shuddered, the bolts holding it together groaning under the pressure. But Wallace knew what he was doing. He let the engine rip again, steadying the plane on a new cruising altitude of 8,000 feet. They were low enough to get a close look at the ground, but high enough to be out of reach of small-arms fire. This was, after all, enemy territory. And at this altitude, only a SAM missile could take them down.

They were tracking the contours of the lake. It arced in a quarter circle, irrigating the land all around it, so it was rich with green trees. The country was lush and beautiful, but Steve could already guess it was very different once you got down on the ground. The animals would be wild and the trees and the grasses would hold you up, making it virtually impossible to escape. Luckily they’d have the chopper to get out in. There’d be no way out marching across country this rough.

‘Elephant’s Foot!’ shouted Wallace, pointing straight ahead. ‘We’ll make one fly-past so you boys can take a look. Any more than that, and Tshaka will start getting suspicious.’

He chuckled to himself. ‘And we don’t want the bastard to know you’re coming for him.’

Steve found himself listening closely to the laugh. There was something he didn’t like about it, as if it was a warning. Could Wallace be sending them into a trap? Maybe the assault on the fort was just a decoy action whilst the real attack was launched elsewhere. Or maybe it was just a probing attack, designed to soften up the fort for a full-scale assault by the Sixth Brigade. I certainly wouldn’t put it past Wallace to be using us as pawns in a much larger game, he thought.

He strained to get a view of the fort. Even at 8,000 feet you could get a sense of the strength of the place. Its position on the lake looked out onto clear water so there was not much chance of taking cover behind the bend if you approached by boat. Ollie would have to come in hard and fast for his assault. On the other three sides of the fort, the forest and scrubland had been cleared at least 100 yards in each direction. Again, there was no cover, making it impossible to stage a surprise attack. A single mud track led up to the fort, twisting its way through the forest. Trees had been felled for twenty yards on either side, the path regularly cleared to stop it growing back. Again, the Commander was making certain there was no possibility of an ambush. Nobody could get anywhere near the road without exposing themselves to fire.

‘We’ve learned something already,’ Dan said to Steve.

‘Yes - that the man’s a professional,’ said Steve.

Dan nodded. ‘Which means we’re going to have a fight on our hands.’

Steve knew he was right. Inside, even from this distance, the fort looked both well-defended and well-maintained. There was nothing sloppy or amateurish about it. Tshaka was expecting to be attacked, and had made plans to defend himself. The man was disciplined and organised, and knew his stuff - and that was going to make him a formidable opponent.

‘Look,’ said Ganju quickly.

Steve followed the man’s finger. The Gurkha was the most acutely observant man he’d ever fought alongside, a solider who could spot a weakness in even the best dug-in defences. It was part of his tradition. The Gurkhas were famous for their formidable bravery, but it was mixed with cunning, and planning. They hit their enemies hard, and without fear, but they always made sure they were aiming for the weakest spot.