Fire Force(87)

‘There’s no time.’

‘We can’t—’

‘We’re going to the lake!’ yelled Steve, making sure Ian had heard him.

He looked back towards the fort. He’d seen the look of anguish on the faces of each of the men as the guns jabbed into their backs. There’s nothing we can do, he told himself grimly. There are thirty soldiers in there, they are holding our mates hostage, and we’re short on ammo. If we go back in, it will be a bloodbath.

And it will be our blood.

But we will be back, he vowed.

Soon.

The Land Rover was jerking wildly as it bounced over the holes and bumps in the track. Ian was driving at a breakneck speed, struggling to control the machine as it climbed up to sixty. It was a suicidal speed, but there was no choice. As soon as Wallace had his prisoners under control, he’d be scrambling his men into action.

‘If you see something, shoot it,’ Steve muttered towards Nick. He had already pulled the Uzi free from his own webbing, but through the dust kicked up in their wake, it was impossible to see anything apart from the occasional flash of forest and grassland.

Ian brought the Land Rover skidding to a shuddering halt at the edge of the jetty. Steve was flung forwards as the car braked, and it took all his control to stop himself from loosening off a few rounds from the automatic pistol. Maybe I’m going to die here, he thought to himself. But it’s going to be in a battle, not an accident.

‘Move!’ screamed Ian.

The three men started to run towards the waiting fishing boat.

Ollie could feel the cold steel tip of an AK-47 jabbing into his back. ‘Stand totally still,’ barked the soldier. ‘Or you die right here, right now.’

Up ahead, he could see the Land Rover, with Ian at the wheel, spin through the gates. He’d seen Steve and Nick climb on board, and he was cursing himself for not having had the wits to stand closer to the vehicle.

But it’s too late now, he told himself. And we won’t get a second chance.

‘Drop your weapon,’ the soldier ordered.

Ollie stood still. At his side, he could see Dan, Chris, Ganju, David and Maksim, all standing immobile. Newton was whispering something into his brother’s ear and the President was folding away the gun Wallace had given him. Some light rain was starting to spit across the parade ground. Maybe I’ve had worse mornings, thought Ollie bitterly. But right now I can’t think of any.

‘Drop it.’ The AK-47 was digging into his skin, the metal growing warm and sticky from the sweat running off Ollie’s back.

‘Do what he says,’ snapped Wallace, looking across at Ollie. ‘We don’t give a damn about shooting you right now.’

Ollie fished inside his webbing and drew out the Uzi. He could feel a stab of regret in his chest as it landed on the ground, but he knew there was no choice. He didn’t rate their chances of survival very highly right now, and he wouldn’t have minded going out in a blaze of gunfire. But he knew he’d be dead before a single shot was fired. If I’m going to throw my life away, he told himself, I’ll make sure I take some of these bastards down with me.

A soldier stooped to pick up the weapons each of the men had thrown on the ground.

‘Bind them,’ commanded Wallace.

Ollie thrust his hands behind his back. He could feel the Plasti-Cuffs snapping into place. The plastic was tight, cutting uncomfortably into his skin. Across the parade ground, Kapembwa was walking with Newton and Matola back towards the waiting chopper, pulling the steps up behind them as they climbed inside.

‘The men who escaped,’ Wallace shouted to one of the soldiers standing closest to him. ‘I want them caught and shot. Show them no mercy.’

Steve heard the roar of a vehicle crashing down the dirt track, followed by the rattle of an AK-47, its bullets cutting through the damp morning air. Leaping from the side of the Land Rover, he started to run towards the jetty.

‘I can hold them,’ shouted Nick.

‘Just sodding run,’ yelled Steve.

Ahead, Ian was hurrying towards one of the three boats tied up to the mooring. It was a simple fishing vessel, thirty feet long, with a Honda outboard engine. The fisherman was standing right next to it. By now, Ian was already standing on the open deck, shouting at them furiously to get on board.

Steve glanced around. Nick was racing past him, jumping onto the boat. Behind him a Land Rover was hurtling down the dirt track towards them; there was no way of knowing how many men were on board, but bullets were flying in every direction.

He looked towards the two fishermen standing by their boats. Both men were young, twenty or twenty-one, with strong, lean bodies, their muscles strengthened by long days hauling nets from the lake. Drawing his Uzi, he jabbed it towards them. ‘Disable your boats,’ he shouted.