Steve could feel himself tensing. If those blokes knew how to use that bastard, they were as good as dead.
‘Those your guys?’ he asked, tapping Tshaka on the shoulder.
Tshaka looked towards the boat and nodded slowly. The same peaceful smile was playing on his lips. And in his eyes, there was a glint of determined resistance.
Steve drew his Uzi machine pistol and slammed it into the man’s head. ‘I want you to get them on the radio and tell them to let us through.’
Tshaka just shook his head.
‘Do as you’re told,’ growled Steve. ‘Or you’re a dead man.’
‘I’m a dead man already,’ said Tshaka, his tone calm and even. ‘You’re taking me to Kapembwa, I used to fight for him, and I know that he plans to kill me. So you see, since you are delivering me to my executioner, your threats don’t have much effect.’
‘Look, just tell—’
But Steve’s sentence was interrupted by the roar of the AK-630. The cannonfire ripped through the still of the morning, its shells cutting across the stretch of water that still separated the two boats. Suddenly, there were explosions all around, the water churned up by the munitions. A huge wave rocked over the patrol boat, then another, and the vessel was listing from side to side. Ganju had already spun the wheel, trying to steer close to the shore, where they wouldn’t be so directly in the line of fire, whilst Chris had opened up with the KPV, pumping round after round of munitions across the lake.
‘Get them to stop!’ roared Steve into Tshaka’s ear.
The guerrilla leader shook his head. There was water splashing across his face, and he was struggling to maintain his balance as the boat was thrown around, but he stayed silent.
‘You’ll bloody die as well,’ Steve shouted.
‘Once you’ve decided to kill a man, you’ll find you’ve lost all influence over him,’ said Tshaka. ‘I’m surprised the British Army doesn’t still teach that lesson. Since I’m going to die anyway, I’d rather you and the rest of your unit died with me. Surely you can see that?’
‘Sod it,’ muttered Steve under his breath. There was no point in talking to this nutter. ‘Lay some fire into the bastards,’ he yelled.
Grabbing his own AK-47 he began putting round after round into the boat. At his side, Ollie and Dan were doing the same thing. But the distance meant they were having little impact and the bullets, even if they found their target, weren’t going to do much damage to plates of solid steel.
‘It doesn’t turn,’ shouted Maksim.
Steve turned to face the Russian.
‘I’ve trained against AK-630s,’ said Maksim, struggling to make himself heard against the roar of gunfire all around them. ‘It’s a lethal gun, but it can’t be turned around quickly. We need to get alongside them, then put an RPG round into the bastards.’
Steve nodded. The Russian was right. The attacking vessel could outgun them, but it couldn’t outmanoeuvre them. He rushed up to the bridge, grabbing hold of Ganju. ‘Get close to the shore, and get as much speed as possible,’ he instructed the Gurkha. ‘Nick and Maksim, get an RPG ready. Chris, you put as much heavy-duty fire into the bastards as possible. Everyone else hunker down and get ready to swim for it if we have to.’
Ganju had already swung the vessel violently towards the shoreline. He was dragging as much power as possible from the patrol boat, pushing the diesel engine to the maximum. The waters all around them were rough, the waves kicked up by the explosions making the vessel toss and pitch. It took all your strength just to hang on. Water was smashing into them from every direction, making it impossible to see anything that was happening around them. The AK- 630 was still laying down round after round of fire and, as the two boats drew closer to one another, it was getting more accurate as well. Steve could smell the shells exploding in the water, and he sensed it wouldn’t be long before they were hit. Chris was holding the KPV as steady as he could. At least when they were returning fire it made it too dangerous for any of Tshaka’s men to come out on the deck of their boat. And it stopped the crew manning the AK-630 from focusing on their target.
But we can’t hold out for long, realised Steve. They’re too strong for us.
‘Get more power from the engines!’ he bellowed above the din of the battle.
They were as close to the edge of the lake as they could risk: twenty feet at most. The enemy was 200 yards away, closer to the centre of the lake. They were starting to draw level: another fifty yards and they’d be right alongside it.
Nick and Maksim were preparing the RPG, struggling desperately to hold it steady enough to get away a shot.