Fire Force(77)

Steve looked towards Tshaka. ‘Can we break through there?’

‘You expect me to help you deliver me to my executioners?’ Tshaka spat on the ground.

Maksim was advancing towards him, a thick log he’d picked up from the ground in his hand. ‘You’ll tell us where we can break through, or you’ll die right here.’

‘Then I’ll die here, Russian scum.’

Ian was standing next to him. He’d flipped open the knife he carried in his webbing, and even in the pale early-evening light its blade glistened menacingly.

‘Leave it,’ snapped Ollie.

‘We’ll carve the information out of him if we need to,’ said Ian calmly. ‘Most men will talk if you know where to put the knife. It worked in Ulster.’

‘I daresay it did,’ said Ollie stiffly. ‘But even if you break him, there’s nothing to stop him leading us straight into a trap. His best chance of getting out alive is to push us straight towards his crack troops.’

Ian paused, then folded away the blade. In the distance, there was a peal of thunder. The rain would be upon them soon, judged Steve. Another rough night. But that might play to their advantage. If he knew anything about soldiers, they’d be hunkering down, trying to keep themselves dry, probably brewing up some hot tea and grabbing a few quiet ciggies. Even if they were sent out on patrol, they’d be making it as short as possible.

‘How far?’ he said, looking towards Newton and pointing towards the pass he’d marked out on the map.

‘About two miles,’ answered Newton. ‘It’s a steep climb up through the hills, then a clean break through the valley.’

‘I reckon it’s our best shot,’ said Steve.

‘We could wait until morning,’ said David. ‘Do a proper recce of the area?’

Steve shook his head. ‘We’re too close to Tshaka’s lines. If they discover us, we’re done for. I’d rather take my chances tonight.’

He glanced at each man in turn. Gritty determination was written into the faces of each of them. They knew the risk they were about to take. They were attempting to break through a military line, with no logistical support, no proper planning and zero intelligence. They had no idea what kind of opposition they might face. In any normal circumstance, they’d be told it was madness. They could run into an overwhelming force from either army. And both sides would shoot on sight.

But these weren’t normal circumstances.

The risks were appalling whether they stayed or went. And they’d all rather move out now than spend a night waiting to see if a whole army was about to descend on them, intent on slaughter.

‘Then let’s crack on,’ Steve said crisply.

They took a few minutes to eat some of the dried-up worms they’d brought with them, mixed in with some biscuits carried in their kitbags. The food made them feel a bit stronger. Ollie and David broke the unit up into smaller patrols. If any shooting kicked off, there was no point in them all going down. Newton was the lead man, since he knew the ground best. He’d go fifty yards ahead, and signal any trouble. That would give the others a chance to get away if they encountered a serious-looking force. Newton himself would be a goner, but those were the breaks.

Behind Newton, Steve would lead a four-man patrol including David, Maksim and Dan. Another fifty yards back, Ollie would lead Ian, Chris and Nick, with Tshaka walking between them, still bound and also gagged now. Ganju would drop another fifty yards back to alert them to any trouble from the rear.

‘All set?’ asked Steve.

The men remained silent.

‘Then let’s go.’

It was a long, hard march. Dusk had faded into night, and there was a stiff, damp breeze. The moon was totally obscured, but it was too dangerous to use a torch. A narrow path led through the woodlands, then up into the hills. By following that, they could keep from getting lost. But it was slow, hazardous progress, each step measured out carefully to prevent yourself falling over the fallen branches that littered the way.

After a mile, the ground started to rise steeply. The track narrowed and twisted out of the woodlands and into the dense scrub that filled the hillside. A ridge of mountains stretched for about five miles to the east, rising to a height of 2,000 feet. Two miles away, Steve reckoned he could see the lights of the front line. Campfires were burning and, occasionally, there was a burst of tracer fire spitting into the sky. If it was a modern, well-equipped army down there, there would be white phosphorus grenades to light up the night sky. But these boys didn’t have money to burn on illuminations and fireworks: they fought the old-fashioned way, with each bullet used to kill a man - and Steve couldn’t help but admire them for that.