Part 35 (1/2)
Delani grunted as something struck him heavily under the armpit. Blood sprayed out from the wound and the South African fell forward onto the bike. He bit past the pain and crawled onto the seat, letting Gilles on behind him.
”Get moving,” Ike insisted. ”Now.”
He finally fitted his last grenade and raised the launcher one more time, determined to make this shot count. As Delani and Gilles peeled out, Ike squeezed the trigger.
The air between the two leading bikes burst into flames. The concussive force blasted one of them apart and threw the second rider clean off his bike to crash headfirst onto the ground.
The third motorbike sped through the explosion's wake, straight toward Ike.
Suddenly alone and out of ammo, Ike dropped the launcher to the ground and darted for the tree line. As the roaring bike bore down on him, he dove through the thick undergrowth and collapsed to the mud on the other side.
Rather than pursuing, the third rider continued right past him, darting off down the trail.
Brandon drove as fast as he dared along the winding trail. The truck rattled and bounced with every b.u.mp. Behind him, the trailer squealed and groaned on its shocks.
He noticed Raoul glancing in the rearview mirror, a concerned expression on his face. The Frenchman twisted in his seat to look out the back. In his own rearview mirror, Brandon glanced out at the black night. Only one working brake light lit the view in soft red. But, before he pulled his eyes away to look at where he was going, he spotted movement, a dark silhouette on the trailer by his Cessna.
”We have company,” he told Raoul.
Raoul said something in French in reply, and then, ”Brandon.”
When he looked back over at Raoul, the Frenchman was watching him. He unclasped the buckle to his seat belt and moved a hand to the door handle. ”Soigneux.”
”What are you doing?”
Raoul held a finger to his lips and opened the door. One foot at a time, he climbed out onto the pa.s.senger seat step, holding tight to the doorframe. The wind blew his hair back and as the truck hit a b.u.mp he clutched himself tight to the metal. Through it all, his expression was serene, as though he was back in his kitchen cooking hash and potatoes.
Brandon didn't know what to make of it. As he glanced forward again, his eyes caught a light in his rearview mirror. He focused on driving, at first pus.h.i.+ng down on the gas to outrun the light. He soon realized that trying to outrun it was useless and, a moment later, a small motorbike with two riders sped right up alongside him.
He breathed a small sigh of relief when he recognized Delani.
But then another, similar light appeared behind him.
Maybe that's Ike?
The sound of gunshots jolted his nerves. His eyes went up at a series of flashes in his mirror as the silhouette opened fire from the trailer. Round spider webs appeared in the gla.s.s at the back of the cabin, right behind his head.
Then the gunshots ceased and a series of cracks issued from his right. Raoul clung to the side of the truck, slowly attempting to climb around the cabin, a pistol extended and firing at the silhouette.
He saw the intruder scramble for cover behind the Cessna, even as Raoul climbed toward the trailer.
The second motorbike pulled up alongside the trailer. Flashes erupted from where the driver should be, spraying bullets in Delani's direction. Delani swerved to dodge them, but the mercenaries were in no position to return fire.
Brandon swerved to the left. But the truck was too c.u.mbersome and the trailer barely fishtailed.
Raoul pounded on the window, clinging onto the side of the cab for dear life.
”Oh right,” Brandon yelled. ”Sorry!”
The second motorbike swerved back and forth on the trail, then backed off and cut behind the trailer, out of Brandon's view.
Meanwhile, Raoul made his way around to the trailer and hopped into the bed, gun drawn and ready. The Frenchman's face glowed red in the truck's brake light as he scanned for the intruder.
Jean waved to the soldier on the motorbike. Zadu's lieutenant crouched behind the disa.s.sembled wing of the Cessna, using it as cover. He held his Glock ready for a shot at the driver or the gunman who had just climbed from the pa.s.senger seat. In the darkness and with the bulk of the Cessna's fuselage in front of him, he could see neither.
He waved again to the soldier on the motorbike. He didn't want to proceed alone and the rider couldn't shoot his gun effectively while maneuvering the cycle. The soldier gave him one last doubtful look then swerved toward the trailer and reached out with his left arm.
His fist closed around the chain that held the plane in place moments before the bike flipped out from under him. The soldier held on as he pulled himself onto the trailer.
Jean crawled out from behind his hiding spot. He held the Glock out ready, finger pressed, and looked for any sign of movement. Slowly he crept along the side of the plane, stepping carefully over the thick floats. He hoped that his man would move along the other side to help him surround the gunman as he was trained.
He reached the Cessna's nose, marred by a trail of bullet holes, and stretched to see over the top. Jean couldn't see the gunman from this angle, but he had a clear shot at an even better target. Hoping that his soldier kept the gunman's attention, Jean aimed his Glock through the rear window of the cabin.
His eyes settled on a head of curly brown hair. The driver's attention was forced forward to navigate the twisting trail. And while the rear window might stop the first few rounds, it couldn't stop all the bullets in Jean's clip.
Without hesitation, Jean squeezed the trigger.
The Glock rattled in his hands, banging in his ears like a jackhammer. Something battered his wrist and, in the numb moment, he didn't even register that something had knocked his hand up into the air and spent all his bullets on the starry sky.
The gunman appeared in front of him then, stepping within arm's length. Jean smelled the sour scent of palm wine as a solid elbow struck him in the gut. The same elbow battered his sternum, his throat, and his chin in one continuous movement. Dazed, Jean dropped the Glock and fell back against the fuselage.
A fist swung for his face, but this time he had the sense of mind to block it. He did so with two upraised arms and at the same time earned himself a knee in the groin.
In all his life, Jean had never seen somebody move quite so fast.
And then the man was crouched at his legs. One arm wrapped around the back of his thigh and the other grabbed onto his opposite calf. In one rush of movement, Jean was lifted off of the trailer planks and thrown through the air.
Jean looked back at the man who had thrown him, seeing the callous expression in his eyes. The wine-soaked man stood at the edge of the trailer.
Jean landed hard in the mud. Terrible pain shot through his body with each bounce along the ground. He heard the crack of a limb before he felt the blow.
As he looked up at the departing trailer, he saw his man move around the plane to attack the waiting gunman. The gunman spun and fired three times in rapid succession. It was more than enough to do the job.
Soldiers poured into the two remaining vehicles.
Ike watched them from the tree line, a sea of shadows fumbling over one another. They quickly crowded both Jeeps in their haste to catch the unknown attackers. He heard the rumble of the first engine and tensed his muscles in antic.i.p.ation.
As the first Jeep lurched forward, its front tire rolled over a small cylinder propped against a rock. Under the weight of the vehicle, the grenade compressed. An explosion shattered the night, followed by the screams of men. Ike watched as the Jeep rolled over backward and settled to the ground covered in flames.
Although the trap had worked as planned, Ike regretted he had neglected to b.o.o.by trap the second vehicle, the one with the machine gun and the one he had originally intended to steal. Right after the first vehicle went up in flames, the second lit up, headlights flas.h.i.+ng, and started across the gra.s.sy clearing.
Askari Nahuru soldiers reached the trail on foot before the Jeep caught up. They gathered around a single silhouette. The driver of the Jeep pulled the vehicle to a stop, when the silhouette raised an outstretched hand.
The men whispered in KiSwahili, and Ike strained to hear the individual words. Some of them spoke of ghosts in the jungle. Others theorized that their own men had been driven mad and stolen the vehicles. Someone announced that they had to chase down the truck or someone named Zadu would be furious.
The shadows mingled about one another in a state of confusion, giving Ike an idea. The Australian mercenary crept slowly from the foliage until he stood on the trail. Mustering his nerve, he walked into the gathering like he was one of them. In the night, darkness cloaked their faces and as long as n.o.body studied him closely, they would never notice a white foreigner among them.