Decisive Measures Read online

  This time we landed, keeping the rotors turning fast as the mercenaries dumped out their weapons and kit and jumped down. As they did so the landing zone erupted with hostile fire. I heard the crack and tick of rounds piercing the helicopter’s steel skin and ripping through the Perspex canopy above my head.

  The seconds crawled by as the soldiers dragged their equipment out. ‘Come on,’ Tom shouted. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘We’re waiting for Layla,’ Grizz said.

  She had been treating some wounded at the compound, but was now returning to Freetown. I saw her come sprinting from the fortified container building, ducking and weaving as she ran across the compound and dived into the cab.

  It seemed an age before Grizz called, ‘She’s in. Go. Go. Go.’

  Before he had finished speaking, I was climbing and banking away from the rebel fire, swinging away as dust and smoke obscured the battlefield behind us.

  Among the lines of ineffectual small-arms fire, I suddenly saw a series of huge, vivid red starbursts ripping upwards, outlined for a fraction of a second against the backdrop of bare rock and forest and then soaring up across the blue sky towards us. For a moment I refused to believe the evidence of my eyes.

  ‘That’s anti-aircraft fire,’ Tom said. ‘That ZFU they told…’ His voice trailed away.

  Sweat poured from my brow as I jerked and twisted the Huey around in a frantic pattern of evasion. The unseen gunner tracked us, and the fireballs drifted closer. I pulled a maximum break and the red fires blasted the empty sky where we had been heading only a few seconds before.

  I pulled another gut-wrenching turn, then froze. Red fire burned a line through the sky towards us like an oxyacetylene torch cutting metal. It disappeared in the blinding glare of the sun, then reappeared as a red flash directly ahead of us.

  Time seemed to stop, then there was a blast and a crash, and a blurring frenzy of light, noise and heat. The red flares were on the inside of the cab, punching up through the armoured floor and out through the roof. The line burned its way across the floor, up through Tom’s seat and out through the back of the cab.

  There was the stench of burning, and a snowstorm of metal, plastic, rubber and fabric flew around me. Tom twitched a little, and then settled into his seat as if dropping off to sleep, but from the corner of my eye, I saw a rich, red stain spread over his flying suit.

  For a second every screen was blank. Then there was a blizzard of flashing lights and a rising cadence of shrieking alarms. The Huey gave a savage lurch and went into an accelerating spin. Tracer rounds, red earth, dark green vegetation and blue sky blurred into a continuous multicoloured stream flashing past the cockpit.

  Agonisingly slowly, each movement a huge effort, I pulled the levers, throttling back, cutting the power and the torque in an effort to hold it level. The landscape came back into focus.

  I nursed the failing helicopter towards a gash in the trees where some forest giant had collapsed. It was strictly too narrow for the rotors but we had zero options. I lined up the heli, setting the tail rotor directly along the length of the gap.

  I took a deep breath. Modern craft were lighter, constructed from materials unknown when the Huey was built, but the sheer solidity of the old helicopter had some advantages. The main rotors were almost fifty feet from tip to tip and the ballast weights at the ends gave the heavy blades such inertia that they could slice through brush and small branches without damage.

  I began to inch us down. The body of the heli dropped below the treetops. As it sank lower there was a noise like gunfire and a snowstorm of wood fragments flew through the air.

  The noise and the blizzard of splinters increased as we dropped. The rotors made harder work of cutting their way through the thicker lower branches and we were still sixty feet above ground when they hit an immovable object – the spike of a broken branch as thick as my thigh. The blurring rotors froze in front of my eyes and then shattered, sending silver shards knifing through the air.

  The Perspex cracked, and a fragment of rotor blade smashed through it like a machete. Its leading edge sliced through my harness and into my chest. The Huey hit the ground with a crash that drowned out the warning siren, and I blacked out.

  * * *

  When I opened my eyes, fragments of leaf were fluttering down on to the crumpled cockpit and a fog of orange-brown dust hung around it. My head was pounding and there was a stabbing pain in my chest. I could hear the hiss of fluid dropping on hot metal and the clicking of the engine as it began to cool. There was no sound from the surrounding jungle; every bird and animal had been put to flight by the crash of the helicopter.

  I shook off my flying glove and touched my chest. My hand came away dark and sticky with blood. Then I looked to my right. Tom lay motionless in the co-pilot’s seat. His flying suit from chest to ankles was a sodden mass of blood, his face as grey as if it had been cast from clay. I shuddered and looked away.

  I called to Layla and Grizz. There was silence. Panic rose inside me. I called again, twisting my head to look behind me, then winced as the knife-sharp fragment of rotor blade sliced deeper into my flesh. It had been stopped by the breastbone. Had it penetrated a couple of inches further, I would have been dead.

  I heard Grizz mutter something and then Layla’s hesitant reply. I almost cried with relief. ‘Don’t try and move for a moment. I’ll get myself free and then help you.’

  I undid my harness, then pulled myself as far back into my seat as I could. The broken rotor blade had a barbed edge and the skin on my chest caught and pulled. I stifled a cry of pain as it tore free, leaving a small gobbet of flesh impaled on the hook like fishing bait.

  As I squeezed through the gap into the cab I heard the crack of gunfire. Grizz was already out of his seat, wrenching the mini-gun from its mounting.

  ‘Get Layla out and make a break for it,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you cover.’ He handed me a grenade. ‘Blow the tanks with this when you’re ready to go. The diversion’ll give us all a better chance.’

  ‘Where do we wait for you?’

  ‘You don’t. We’ll RV back at Bohara.’

  ‘But Grizz?’

  ‘Don’t argue. Get going.’ He loosed off a burst of fire into the forest, then jumped out and sprinted for cover on the far side of the clearing.

  I turned to Layla. ‘OK?’

  She nodded. ‘What about Tom?’ She read the answer in my face.

  I grabbed a rifle and as many clips as I could stuff into the pockets of my combat vest. Then I slid open the door on the far side of the cab, waited for a burst of gunfire from Grizz, and waved her away towards the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. She ran fast, low to the ground, dodging and weaving. As she dropped into cover behind a rotting tree trunk, I swung out of the door. I stuck the grenade into the neck of the fuel tank, pulled the pin and sprinted away from the Huey, throwing myself into cover alongside Layla.

  The grenade exploded, followed at once by an even more massive blast as the fuel tank detonated. A pillar of flame shot into the air and debris whistled over our heads. As the echo of the blast faded, I was on my feet, grabbing Layla’s arm. ‘Come on.’

  We turned and ran into the forest. The firing began again almost at once, but no shots followed us as we crashed through the undergrowth. We ran on until the gunfire was only the faintest of echoes, then slowed to a walk. It was hard to navigate through the dense forest, but I tried to keep us on a north-westerly bearing.

  ‘What do we do?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t want to make directly for Bohara. If the rebels are pursuing us, that’s the direction they’ll assume we’re taking. We’ll aim to pass north of the compound and then approach from the east – though there’s a high chance of getting lost in this maze.’

  We moved on. The trees soon began to thin, with patches of cleared land hacked and burned out of the forest. Some were planted with crops, showing that a village was not far away.

  We reached the edge of the f
orest and looked out over a broad valley. A river wound through it and I could see a village set in a sea of elephant grass, a cluster of huts made of crude wattle-and-daub walls and palm-thatched roofs supported on bush-pole rafters.

  We moved through the chest-high grass and crept up a low ridge to peer down at the village. It seemed a picture of tranquillity. Women sat in the doorways of their huts as children played around them. A few scrawny hens scratched at the dust. The younger women were returning from the riverbank carrying headloads of water and clean washing.

  We lay watching for some time. ‘What do you think?’ I said.

  ‘I know these people,’ Layla said. ‘I think we’re safe here.’

  As I began to get to my feet, I heard a faint noise behind me and then a blow exploded against my temple. I staggered and collapsed to my knees. When I raised my head, shaking it to clear my blurred vision, I found myself facing a group of at least twenty men. I closed my eyes, cursing myself for my stupidity. Our headlong flight through the forest must have left a trail a blind man could have followed. We should have kept moving through the grasslands, rather than pausing here, allowing the rebels to overtake us.

  Their hair was tangled into rough dreadlocks plaited with scraps of ribbon, thread and shards of broken mirror. Their eyes were bloodshot and their pupils like pinpricks. Most were little more than boys, but there was no mistaking the murderous look in their eyes.

  Their leader, a bloated, brutish-looking veteran at least eighteen years old, stood watching as we were searched. My combat vest was ripped from my back and handed to him, together with my rifle and ammunition clips. He emptied my wallet, tucking my money into his pocket. My survival equipment was picked over, then distributed among his men. When he found the GPS navigating device, however, he put it on the ground and drove the butt of his rifle down on it.

  We were pushed down the hillside towards the village and there were shouts of alarm as we were spotted by the villagers. People began to run, only to find more rebels advancing into the village on all sides. The men and boys who had been out working in the fields were dragged in a few minutes later and the whole population was herded together on the trampled earth at the heart of the village.

  The rebel leader pushed Layla and me into a corner by one of the huts. Two rebel soldiers stood guard over us.

  I touched Layla’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this.’

  ‘You didn’t. I got myself into it. If you make it out of here, Jack, go and see my parents for me, will you?’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Tell them what happened and say that, though I wished it hadn’t ended this way, I still didn’t regret having come here.’

  ‘You can tell them yourself, the next time you’re home.’

  She gave an impatient shake of her head.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I promise I will.’

  She held my gaze a moment longer.

  We fell silent and sat huddled together, frightened and alone as the rebels looted the village. Food and jugs of palm wine were brought out of the huts and passed from hand to hand, and they were soon drunk. They began to interrogate the villagers, but after a few minutes, they gave up even a show of interest in the answers. They began chanting and singing, stamping their feet, moving ever closer, crowding the villagers together. Pangas began to rise and fall, the sun glinting from the blades. Layla stifled a scream and buried her face in my shoulder as a bloodied man collapsed to the ground. Then the rebel leader severed his victim’s head with three strokes of his panga. He impaled the head on a stick and thrust it towards us, jeering at the terror he saw written on our faces.

  The slaughter went on until the village was full of dead. The smell of blood hung over it, sweet and sickly.

  The boys were forced to become recruits. Each one was made to identify his parents and then ordered to kill them. If he refused, he was killed himself. But after this had happened three or four times the boys began killing their parents as soon as they were ordered to do so.

  Tears running down our cheeks, we watched the surviving boys and young men, most too stunned even to cry, being marched away. Now only the girls and young women remained in the village. The leader stayed with the two rebels guarding us. The rest of them dragged the girls away, ripping off their clothes and holding them down as each soldier took his turn. It was like a soundtrack from hell, with cries, groans and screams coming from all sides.

  The leader watched for a moment, a smile on his face, then turned towards us. His gaze switched from me to Layla as he licked his lips, his tongue darting out like a snake tasting the air.

  He signalled to the other two to take my arms. As I strained against the two holding me, I felt sharp steel prick my throat and forced myself to remain still.

  The leader moved round behind Layla, placing one hand on her hip. Clutching a panga in his other hand, he began to propel her towards one of the huts, thrusting his hips against her buttocks to push her forward.

  As he reached the entrance he paused and called out to the two men guarding me. They gave a burst of harsh laughter. One of them propped the RPG he was carrying against the wall of the hut and held a blade against my neck. The other stood in front of me. His T-shirt was stained with blood, dirt and sweat and when he spoke he showed a mouthful of black and rotting teeth. He stretched out a hand and stroked my cheek, then said something to the other rebel. They both laughed again.

  He took a knife from the sheath on his belt and pressed the point against my chin, forcing my head up. I felt a stab of pain and blood trickled down my neck. The knife point worked lower, tracing a line down my throat and chest. He cut off the buttons of my shirt one by one and then slid the knife down the waistband of my trousers.

  Suddenly there was a terrible screaming from the hut where the rebel leader had taken Layla, so high-pitched it sounded as if no human voice could have made such a sound. Even my captors were momentarily nonplussed.

  I gave up the last shreds of hope. Layla was dead. I would be next. Better to die fighting than humiliated and murdered. I tensed myself, poised to attack. I might at least get one of them before the other cut me to pieces.

  Then I heard a footfall and a thin, sibilant sound, ‘Sssst! Sssst!’

  I looked up. The face of the rebel guarding me had become a red mask of blood. The sound came again, ‘Sssst!’

  There was a squeal like a slaughtered hog and the bulk of the other man crashed down on my back. Writhing to be free of his dead weight, I forced myself away from him and swung around. Then I saw his staring eyes and the gaping gash in his neck. Blood still spilled from it, but he was already dead.

  I looked up. Layla stood there, her skirt ripped and stained. Blood dripped from the blade of the panga she held in her hand. She met my gaze, her eyes blank and hard, but as she looked down again at the bodies, her face crumpled and the panga dropped from her grip.

  I hauled myself to my feet. ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ I said, my voice cracking. ‘Now.’

  The rebel commander staggered into view, blood drenching his thighs, screaming and shouting. I looked round. The soldiers’ weapons were still propped against the wall of the hut. I reached for a rifle, eased off the safety catch and took aim.

  The shot hit him low and slightly left, ripping through the side of his abdomen. The force of the impact spun him round and his body jerked as I fired again and again. At last he dropped and lay still.

  I dropped the rifle and stared at my hands. To pilots, war could sometimes seem an arcade game. Now I was mired in the bloody, terrifying, ground-level reality of the most brutal and vicious warfare that the mind of man could devise.

  ‘Jack!’ Layla’s fingers were digging into my arm.

  I looked up. A group of rebels was sprinting towards us, yelling and screaming. I reached for the rifle, then checked and picked up the RPG instead. I fumbled with it, pressed it into my shoulder, sighted and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I jerked it down, groped for the safety catch and then p
ulled it up again.

  The lead rebel was no more than twenty yards away. As I sighted along the barrel I saw his face change as he spotted the RPG. Then I pulled the trigger. There was a roar and a blast. The rocket punched a hole through his guts and detonated against a rock a yard away from him. The shrapnel cut down all the other rebels within range, but the noise brought the rest of them swarming back into the centre of the village like hornets.

  Smoke filled my lungs and I coughed. The wall of the hut was on fire, ignited by the back blast of the RPG. Half-blinded by smoke, I grabbed the panga, the rifle and a belt of ammunition, and pushed Layla away. We stumbled towards the forest, hearing the shouts of the rebels in our ears. The first shots whined around us.

  As we reached the trees I turned to loose off a burst from the rifle. One rebel toppled but the others did not even falter in their pursuit. I turned again and we ran for our lives along the track, deeper and deeper into the forest.

  We ran until I thought my lungs would burst, then I checked at a faint break in the wall of vegetation. We dived through it, then twisted round, spreading the foliage back across the gap. We flattened ourselves, worming our way down into the leaf litter of the forest floor, and lay still.

  The wild beating of my heart drowned any sound of pursuit at first, but then I heard the slap of bare feet running towards us. The rebels loped into view, indifferent to their own safety, running steadily, confident of overhauling us. Through the screen of foliage I saw the face of the lead man, scanning the jungle for marks that might show where we had gone.

  I dropped my head and lay still as they moved closer, though my flesh crept. The footsteps slowed. I held myself motionless, though every instinct screamed at me to run before it was too late.