Fire Force(51)

‘Water pipes,’ continued Ganju. He was already scribbling on a pad of paper he’d opened on his lap. ‘There’s a set of two, coming in and out of the lake. I reckon one is taking out the sewage, the other is bringing in water for washing, maybe for drinking as well.’

‘And?’ prompted Steve.

‘And the pipes are coming in overground and through the wall of the fort,’ said Ganju. ‘That’s lazy. They should have put them in a deep trench. The wall is going to be weaker where they’ve fed the pipes through. So that’s where we put in the main RPG rounds. Our chances of bringing down the wall will be far higher then.’

Steve just nodded. As so often, Ganju was completely right.

Wallace had already started to bank the Skymaster into a turning circle, pushing it out over the lake. They’d spent as much time as they could risk flying over the fort today. Tshaka had no Air Force and had to tolerate surveillance from the Central Government’s planes, but more than one reconnaissance flight a day would be noted and put him on the alert. They headed back out over the lake, making for Gull’s Wing.

It was just after eleven by the time they landed. The airstrip was just a dusty stretch of baked and hardened mud to the west of the fort. In wet weather, there would be no way you could bring a plane down here. Even in the dry, Wallace circled the Skymaster twice to get the measure of the strip before attempting to land the plane. Its wheels bumped viciously along the rough ground, the plane rocking violently as Wallace slammed hard on the brakes.

As he hopped down from the cockpit, Steve could feel the humidity in the air. It was much wetter than down in Ibera. You could feel the moisture everywhere, making your lungs sticky and bringing the sweat straight out onto the surface of your skin. In the distance, you could hear the squeals of birds in the forest, creating a nervous edge to the air. I’ve only been here about five seconds, thought Steve. And I don’t like the place already.

They stepped smartly towards the fort. The Alouette had already landed, and Ollie and the rest of the men were inside. Looking around, Steve could see at once why Wallace wasn’t using any of his own men to try and take out Tshaka. This fort was left over from the old Batotean regime, and was nothing more than a remote border post. The walls were seven feet high, made from breeze blocks, creating a well-defended square of about 100 square yards. But it was nothing like Tshaka’s fortress. At the back, the forest was creeping up: weeds, grasses and trees were growing all over the rear wall, and there was enough cover there for a whole platoon of troops to launch a surprise assault. The walls had been whitewashed once, but the paintwork had long since faded away, leaving the concrete exposed to the humidity, which over time would weaken it: a couple of well-placed RPG rounds would blow a hole right through it. At the entrance, a pair of guards at least stood to attention when Wallace started leading the men through. But their uniforms were dirty and frayed, and one of them was wearing trainers rather than boots. Their rifles didn’t look that clean either.

A rabble, decided Steve. This lot weren’t going to be able to fight anyone.

Ollie and David were already standing next to the chopper unloading the kit, as Steve strode across to meet them. In total, he reckoned there were 150 soldiers based here, but none of them looked fighting fit. The barrack house was dilapidated, and the officer’s mess didn’t look any better. There was a terrible smell coming from the crap-house, suggesting it hadn’t been cleaned for weeks. Outside of the barracks, a group of men were playing cards and smoking dope. To the left of the parade ground, another group of guys had got a game of football going.

‘Shame we can’t fight these blokes,’ said Ollie, shaking Steve by the hand. ‘I reckon they’d collapse in no time.’

‘We might be, soon enough,’ answered Steve quietly. He glanced back towards Wallace, but he’d already slipped away to talk to the camp’s commander.

‘What’s Tshaka’s fort like?’ asked Ollie.

‘A lot better than this dump,’ said Steve. ‘I can see why the President is worried about Tshaka . . . he looks a lot more on the ball than his own Army.’

‘Defended?’

Steve nodded curtly. ‘It’s a professional outfit. We’ll have a fair old scrap when we go in.’

‘Then we’d better crack on,’ said Ollie.

Ollie and David had already drawn up a plan for the day’s activities, making the best use of each man’s skills.

Ollie would sort out the boat, fixing the KPV machine gun to its turret and loading up the RPG rockets. He’d take it out on the lake to make sure each man knew his drill. David would take the Alouette up for a spin with the men on board. They needed at least one practice run, maybe two. For most of them, it was a while since they’d last attempted an airborne assault. There were few more difficult military manoeuvres. It required a precise combination of raw courage and perfect choreography. Like ballet dancing under heavy fire - that was the way Steve remembered his instructor at Hereford describing it. Once false move, and you were already a corpse.