The AK-630 was turning - but slowly, noted Steve. Just the way Maksim said it would. A few more yards, and they could get an RPG round straight into it.
He could hear a crash, then smelled burning. The boat rocked backwards, the sound of metal screeching against metal splitting through the air. Christ, their boat had hit something, realised Steve. Whether they’d struck a rock close to the shore or been hit by a shell, it was impossible to tell. The boat was still moving but it was losing power fast, carried forward mainly by its own momentum. Water was sloshing across the deck.
Suddenly, they were out of range of the AK-630.
‘Fire, fire!’ yelled Steve.
Maksim slammed his fist down, releasing the first of the RPG rounds. After the assault on the fort, they only had four shells left. They couldn’t afford to waste any. The missile spat through the air, a sheath of smoke left in its wake. In an instant, it had crashed into the side of the boat, exploding against the side of the AK-630, sending sparks shooting out across the deck.
‘Again, again!’ Steve bawled.
Nick had already reloaded and Maksim fired before the sentence had been finished.
This time, the missile skidded across the deck of the vessel. The gun was smashed to pieces, and two men, their uniforms set alight, hurled themselves desperately into the stormy waters.
The third missile slammed into its side, punching a hole in the hull. The boat was starting to list badly, shipping water as it did so. Five or six men were running onto the deck, but they were charging straight into the murderous fire Chris was laying down from the KPV.
‘Save the last round,’ ordered Steve.
Nick and Maksim put down the RPG. The lake was starting to fall silent, the guns no longer raging.
But the engine was quiet, and the patrol boat was shipping water.
‘It’s fucked,’ spat Dan, climbing up from the hold, his face covered with grime and oil. ‘The engine took a hit from one of the shells. There’s no way we can fix it.’
‘How long have we got?’ asked Steve.
‘We’ll be down within ten minutes,’ said Ganju from the bridge.
Steve glanced towards the shore. It was only twenty feet away, but the boat was leaking badly, and before long it would be under.
‘Let’s get to the shore,’ he snapped, ‘and bring as much kit with us as we can. We’re going to sodding need it.’ Loading his own kit on to his back, he turned to face Tshaka. ‘You’re not dying today, mate,’ he said roughly. ‘I’ve got other plans for you.’
He checked that everyone was getting their gear together. There was no way they were going to rescue the KPV - that piece of kit was going down with the boat. Their AK-47s would be held above their head to make sure they didn’t get too wet. ‘OK, let’s go . . .’
Steve jumped into the water. The lake wasn’t too cold and anyway, he was already wet through. He only needed two strokes, then his feet touched ground. He turned around, shouting at Maksim to toss Tshaka into the water. The Russian grabbed the man by his stillhandcuffed hands, spun him towards the edge of the boat, then shoved hard. Tshaka was a strong man, but there was no point in resisting, and he tumbled face first into the water. Even though his hands were still bound, he instinctively kicked back and brought himself spluttering to the surface, the way Steve guessed he would. Grabbing the prisoner by the collar, he dragged him up to the banks of the lake.
It was a short, muddy walk, then a push through the tall reeds that lined the shoreline. Steve shoved Tshaka up onto the banks, then helped haul the men ashore one by one. Within less than a minute, they were sitting exhausted, watching as the patrol boat slowly slipped beneath the waves.
Steve looked across at Ollie. ‘This is your army, mate,’ he said. ‘You can decide what we do now. Because I’m buggered if I know.’
Twenty-Six
OLLIE AND NEWTON WERE STUDYING the maps. Tucked into a waterproof pouch inside Newton’s webbing, they had survived the drenching. All of the men were wet through and exhausted, but they knew they couldn’t stay where they were. The risk was too high. Pretty soon, Tshaka’s men would come looking for them. And this time, reckoned Steve, they’d bring enough men and firepower to make sure there was only one outcome.
‘We reckon it’s about fifty miles back to the camp,’ said Ollie. ‘We can walk it in maybe two days.’
‘We should track the lake,’ said Ian. ‘That way it will be easy to follow the route and there won’t be too much vegetation in the way.’
Newton shook his head. ‘There will be patrols all along the waterfront,’ he said. ‘We have to get at least ten miles into the interior, then head steadily west.’