Fire Force(75)

‘Time to button our lips and crash out, boys,’ said Steve with a wry smile. ‘Sweet dreams, everyone.’

The rain had beaten down on the forest all night, leaving puddles and mud all around the small clearing where they had made camp. Still, at least we didn’t get charged by rhinos, yawned Steve, as he rolled out of his hammock and put his foot straight into a pool of cold water. And nobody tried to shoot us. Out in this hell-hole, that counts as a good night.

They ate a few dried biscuits washed down with some rainwater that had been collected in their drinking flasks overnight, then pulled their wet clothes back on, storing their dry kit back in the bags so they could sleep in it again if they needed to. By seven in the morning, the march had resumed. There were forty miles left to the camp. They were all fit, strong men, and they could cover that distance in nine or ten hours, so long as the terrain wasn’t too rough. But at some point, they were going to have to break through Tshaka’s lines. And that was going to be a lot harder.

They had completed the first twenty miles by just after lunch. They rested for half an hour, then cracked on. At two o’clock, they saw the first sign of life - a farming village lying just to the right of the path they had mapped out. Newton took them on a two-mile detour that would keep them well out of sight: he reckoned Tshaka’s men would have stationed a couple of soldiers in every village, and there was no point in getting into a fight.

The detour took them into the wilder bush country, a great flat plane of tall grasses and stubby trees. Chris was the first to spot the two Black Rhino, recognising the stamp of their hooves and the snort of their massive nostrils from his time fighting in the borderlands between South Africa and Namibia. The Recces didn’t fear very much, he reminded everyone, but the Black Rhino was on the list. ‘Get the H&H ready,’ he hissed towards Nick.

Steve spun around. Those words could only mean one thing.

His eyes scanned the horizon. They were marching through a barren stretch of savannah, with nothing but tall, wild grasses for at least five miles in every direction. There were hills directly to their west, and they’d be climbing them soon enough, but until then there was no cover, nowhere they could run to.

‘There,’ said Chris.

Steve was straining to see - then his eyes latched onto the rough, tarred skin rippling in the grasslands. A typical Black Rhino was five feet high and twelve feet long, and weighed up to 3,000 pounds, or the equivalent of fifteen hefty blokes. Despite the name, they weren’t really black, more a greyish-brown. Their skin was so thick it made a tank seem under-protected. On their heads were two massive, twisted horns, which could grow up to five feet in length: they could spear a man as easily as you stuck a kebab on a skewer, reckoned Steve. There were two of them - both moving towards them at full pelt. Their blood was up and they were spoiling for a fight: another thirty or forty seconds and they’d be upon them.

‘Go for the skull,’ hissed Chris, his hand resting on his Nick’s shoulder.

Nick had raised the big hunting gun to his eye, lining up the shot. He was glancing around, his expression apprehensive.

‘I said go for the skull!’ repeated Chris, louder this time.

‘I . . . I . . .’ Nick was stammering. His face had turned bright red.

‘Christ,’ muttered Steve. The boy had frozen.

Whipping his AK-47 from his chest, he locked his finger onto the trigger. Whether its 7.62 calibre ammo would make any dent in a rhino skin, Steve had no idea. But it was better than standing around being skewered to death.

At his side, Ganju had taken out his hunting knife. ‘If they’re upon us, a gun’s no use,’ he said tersely. ‘All you can do is twist a knife into their eye and hope to break through to the brain before they crush you to death.’

Chris had already realised what had happened to Nick. Pushing him to one side, he’d grabbed the gun from him. The rhinos were only fifty yards away now, clearly visible through the grasses, snorting viciously as they accelerated towards their prey. The H&H cracked brutally as Chris fired the first bullet. He staggered backwards, struggling to tame the gun’s kickback, then fired again. The first bullet smashed into the advancing animal, splitting open its skull, and sending the beast skidding to the ground.

But the next shot missed.

And the second rhino, now driven into a frenzy of fear and anger, was only thirty yards from them.

‘Get back, get back!’ yelled Steve, spraying a dozen rounds of bullets into the animal. They bounced off its thick skin but still carried enough force to deflect its path. The rhino was charging to the left, then gradually noticed that it no longer had its prey directly in its sights, and started to slow down. It looked around, its black eyes cold and damp, yet streaked with a raw, animal fury. Steve kept pumping bullets into its face - but they made no difference.