Part 24 (1/2)

I eased Concha's head off my shoulder and turned to the rear to talk to Doug. ”We can't hang about here much longer. I think we should start footing it across the border and call the helicopter again from the other side.”

Doug grunted. I could tell he didn't like the idea. ”You're the boss,” he said.

At that moment the handset in my pocket emitted a beep. ”What's that?” I said to Seb.

”The helicopter is interrogating the GPS receiver. It must be airborne and on its way.”

Everybody cheered up.

We waited a few minutes more.

I was getting edgy again when Kiwi said, ”Listen!”

We all sat up. Faintly, from the distance, came the regular thump of helicopter blades.

It grew stronger as we listened.

”Coming from the west,” I said.

”South of west,” Doug countered. ”He's overshot and flying a search pattern.”

We listened some more. The noise of the helicopter grew steadily and the handset beeped again, making us jump.

”He's come in to the south of us, picked up the road and he's following our tracks,” Doug said eagerly.

”Everyone get ready,” I ordered. I turned back towards Seb. He was sitting bolt upright in the middle seat between n.o.bby and me. His eyes were closed and his lips were moving silently. ”Seb.” I nudged him. ”Come on, get your a.r.s.e in gear.”

The noise of the blades was much louder now. ”Twin-engine job?” n.o.bby suggested, puzzled. Seb still wasn't responding. His eyes were squeezed tight shut as if in pain. The helicopter sound was suddenly deafening.

Then it hit me. ”Christ!” I shouted. ”That's no civilian bird, that's an attack chopper! Everybody out!” And I flung the handset from me. ”You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” I yelled at Seb. ”You set us up again!” He didn't move. ”Well, you can stay here and get what's coming to you!” Grabbing his bound hands, I used the tail-end of the para cord to lash him to the steering wheel.

Concha looked scared. I reached across her to open the door, pushed her out and jumped after her into the road. Kiwi and Doug were baling out of the rear. ”Run!” I bawled at Concha, grabbing her arm and hustling her across the road.

We plunged into the snow on the far side, our feet sinking thigh-deep into the gra.s.s and heather underneath.

”Faster! Keep going!” I shouted. ”Get away from the vehicle!”

The other three were sprinting ahead, leaping through the snow and bush in great bounds. We could hear the roar of the helicopter engines blasting up the road towards us, and I looked back. Concha was gasping for breath. I dragged her ruthlessly on. We were 200 metres from the truck when a searchlight beam blazed suddenly out of the sky in the south.

”Down!” I shouted, flinging myself flat, throwing Concha into the snow. ”Burrow underneath and lie still!”

I wriggled into the long gra.s.s, then worked myself round, rifle at the ready. Lifting my head slightly I saw the monstrous, blazing eye skimming up the road from the south. Just visible in the backwash of the searchlight was the stubby outline of an attack helicopter, like a huge predatory insect, cannon barrel projecting from its snout and menacing rockets slung beneath the winglet pylons. f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, I thought, an Apache!

The Apache was the US Army's primary attack helicopter, designed to operate day and night and in all weather. ”Flying tank' would be a more accurate description. The fuselage is invulnerable to ordinary rifle and machine-gun fire it would take a lucky hit from a 23mm cannon sh.e.l.l to bring it down. The leading edges of the main rotor blades are plated in stainless steel to survive impact with trees and metal fragments during low flight, and the pilot and gunner sit in Kevlar-armoured seats for protection over the battlefield. The armaments comprise a 30mm Hughes chain-gun, thirty-eight 70mm unguided explosive-head rockets, and eight h.e.l.lfire anti-tank missiles. In short, it is fast, heavily armed, and near impossible to knock out.

It swung in dead along the centre line of the road. I heard the swoosh of a missile and ducked my head again. There was a shattering explosion and the ground heaved underneath us. Snow and debris rained from the sky. I risked another look. The truck was burning from a direct hit.

The Apache spun round on a wingtip, and pa.s.sed directly over where we lay crouching. Christ, I thought, we're much too close. A near miss with an anti-tank missile or rockets could take us all out.

I saw the pilot line up along the road again. There was a burst of flame from under the starboard wing-stub and a pod of unguided rockets streaked towards the ground like burning arrows. The ground heaved again and the truck vanished in a cloud of smoke and fire.

The Apache was circling round again. I held my breath. The truck was lying toppled over on its side, a ma.s.s of flames. The bodies of Josh and the four Argentines had fallen out and lay strewn in pieces in the snow. I prayed it would look to the crew like they had got us all. I couldn't see Seb, but he must have been dead too. The road was cratered for fifty metres either end of the truck. If the gunner launched his second load of rockets from the western side of the road, we were done for.

The helicopter lined up from the north this time. Its searchlight blazed through the smoke like an evil eye as the gunner loosed his other pod. The nineteen 70mm folding-fm rockets spread out in a fan formation, rus.h.i.+ng towards us in a cloud. I wedged myself down into the earth, clutching Concha's hand.

The explosions seemed to go on and on. Something struck the ground nearby with incredible violence; metal fragments fell hissing all around us. One of the rockets had run wide and ploughed into the snow metres away.

Snow whirled round me in a cyclone as the machine thundered overhead. The truck was still on its side, burning fiercely.

The Apache pivoted, there was a shattering sound, and a solid stream of red light stabbed out from the helicopter into the truck. The gunner was letting go with his Hughes chain-gun. The 30mm rounds ripped into the wrecked truck, slicing through the metal like a giant chainsaw, tearing it apart, obliterating it in a cloud of flying pieces.

Jesus, I thought if he turns that thing on us we're done for.

The helicopter buzzed around the wreckage like a hungry wasp, giving occasional squirts from the cannon, while we cowered in the snow. Abruptly its nose lifted and it soared skywards, its tail spinning around.

Uh-oh, I thought. It's going to check around for survivors.