The sounds of Bongo powering up the avionics and muttering his instrument checks to Jim were muted but audible as Mac crouched in the back of the helo, watching through the glass of the side door to clock when the camp was alerted to their escape.
Unlatching the door, Mac made a small gap to make it faster to remount the helo after his sabotage run was over. The situation seemed more hopeless the longer they waited. The sun was lighting the camp and Mac doubted that he’d have the time to grenade nine helicopters and leap into the one on the end of the line before being shot. It was long odds.
‘Okay,’ said Bongo, raising his voice from the cockpit. ‘When you throw the first grenade, I’ll spark the engine – then we see what we’re made of, right?’
Slinging the canvas bag over one shoulder and the M16 over the other, Mac made to leap out of the Black Hawk when a hand grabbed him.
Looking in Jessica’s eye, Mac felt almost breathless, as if he could float above the ground.
‘My note,’ said Jessica. ‘The love note?’
‘Yeah,’ said Mac, aware of Tommy being able to hear.
You did read it, didn’t you? I left it on your bag.’
‘Um, well,’ said Mac, his mind elsewhere.
‘You didn’t read it,’ said Jessica, her face dropping. ‘Oh my God.’
‘I didn’t, I couldn’t,’ said Mac, trailing off as whining sounds started in the Black Hawk’s electrical systems.
‘It said that I think your parents did a really good job with you, McQueen, and if I ever have kids, I’d love to know their secret.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mac, but no sound came out. She kissed him and Mac leapt off the rear load space onto the lime dust of the runway, and ran through the spooky light of early morning to the helo closest to the camp.
Opening the pilot’s door as he caught his breath, he fished out a grenade, pulled the pin, dumped it on the pilot’s seat and ran for the next helo, forty metres away, where he repeated the action. As he ran for the third helo, the first grenade detonated and ripped apart the flight deck of the helo. Trying to keep his composure as the grenades flashed and sent concussion waves and debris along the runway, Mac dumped his sixth grenade, just as the first shots were fired from a military police jeep that accelerated away from the sentry post at the gate. Turning, Mac watched the last helo’s rotors spinning faster and faster and heard the telltale whining of the turbine spinning to its peak RPM. Running around the back of the seventh helo, he dumped a grenade into the rear load space beside the bio-weapon tank. As he ran the bullets hailed into the helo and the hangar as the belt-fed machine-gun on the jeep opened up.
Mac crossed the open ground to the eighth helo, bringing the M16 up to his shoulder and waiting for the jeep to come parallel before popping the driver with a three-shot burst and then the machine-gunner. Careening out of control, the vehicle swerved out into the runway as the third soldier tried to grab the wheel.
Grabbing his eighth grenade, Mac threw it into the cockpit as the grenade in the seventh helo tore the front section apart in a shuddering burst of white heat. Falling to the ground as he escaped the blast, Mac struggled to crawl around the corner of the ninth and final helo as the previous helo now blew up. Gasping for breath, he realised his left leg was bleeding – he’d been hit by a piece of flying debris. Needing the last helo for cover, Mac limped to its nose, looked out to the camp, saw a silver LandCruiser approaching him at high speed, and pulled back to the load space. Behind him, he could hear Tommy and Jim screaming at him from the powered-up Black Hawk.
Sliding back the large door of the ninth helo, Mac fished for the grenade, primed it and threw it in front of the tank.
His left calf muscle now feeling like it was on fire, Mac turned and tried to run but resigned himself to not making Bongo’s helicopter. He couldn’t fend off the approaching shooters in the LandCruiser and also run for his ride. He’d have to make a choice. Feeling hopeless, yet also strangely powerful, Mac ran in a limp towards the hangar rather than Bongo’s helo. Stopping behind a wall, Mac looked around and fired two bursts of three-shot at the Cruiser, which veered into another hangar as its windscreen shattered.
Turning to look at Jim, who gestured for Mac to get in the helo, Mac waved them away and turned back to face the shooters who now stealthed towards Mac – not Indonesian Kopassus, but Saffas and Aussies from Berger’s crew.
The window smashed above Jim’s head and he ducked, and Bongo pulled the Black Hawk into the air as the steel cladding on the wall Mac was hiding behind was torn apart by bullets. Putting out more rounds at a soldier who ran around the flames from a helo, Mac dived behind a stack of oil drums as the final grenade made the Black Hawk rupture from the inside out.
Mac tried to move back along the burning helo to where he now thought the shooters would be coming from. Ducking down, he looked under the burning aircraft and saw three sets of ankles about forty metres away, and one set of pale blue eyes below a head bandage that wrapped across the forehead.
Shit, thought Mac, locking eyes with Pik Berger.
The South African’s Steyr spewed rounds at Mac as he dived to the side. Landing, Mac aimed up and shot at one set of ankles which was quickly followed by a soldier falling to the ground and clutching his leg in agony. Then he aimed at Berger’s ankles as he ran into the hangar. Mac got off one round and the rifle clicked – out of rounds.
Cursing, Mac looked back and waved away Bongo’s helo which was now hovering a metre above the runway, throwing lime dust and fine gravel for a hundred metres.
Pulling his last grenade from his bag, Mac pulled the pin and threw it towards the hangar Berger had disappeared into. As the grenade exploded, Mac, losing blood, was vaguely aware of another helo coming in to land. And then Bongo’s helo was gone and, through the smoke and dust, Mac heard the soldiers approaching, their panicked commands clearly audible over the roar of fire, and Mac was running, but as in a dream, unable to reach top speed. He ran along the runway until he collapsed into the lime dust.
Pushing himself onto his elbows and then his knees, Mac turned and saw Berger, Sudarto and a posse of the mercenaries – mostly in underwear and T-shirts – approaching out of the smoke and the dust. As Mac put his weight on his right leg and slowly stood, Pik Berger fixed him with a glare and screamed at the men not to shoot.
‘He’s mine,’ said the South African, handing his Steyr to a subordinate and approaching Mac like a big cat.
In the periphery of his vision, Mac was aware of Bongo’s helo pulling away into the sky, but another helicopter alighting on the airfield.
‘So, it’s Mr Jeffries – our kaffir-lover,’ said Berger, bare-chested and half of his face smeared with shave soap.
‘Actually, I’m a fighter not a lover,’ said Mac, as Berger kicked him in the solar plexus and followed with an elbow to the jaw.
Teetering on his good, right leg, Mac stayed upright as Berger kneed him in the balls. Doubling over, Mac thought ‘what the heck?’ and launched a flying head-butt at the Saffa’s face.
Turning slightly, Berger took a glancing blow on the cheek-bone and Mac lurched forward, hopelessly off balance.
Swinging a fast right hook, Berger connected with Mac’s left jaw bone, instantly dropping him to his knees. Instinctively, Mac raised his arm in defence but Berger’s boot came through with such force that it connected with Mac’s chin. Feeling his teeth move in their gums, Mac’s head snapped back and he hit the ground face-first.
Lying back, Mac tried to breathe as he felt unconsciousness beckoning. And then Pik Berger was kicking him in the ribs from one side and Amir Sudarto looked down from the other.
‘Next time you come at me, kaffir-lover, you’d better put me in the grave,’ said Berger, chest heaving.
‘Consider it done,’ said Mac, pushing himself into a sitting position.
‘Still the smart lip – our Kakatua,’ said Sudarto, using the Bahasa Indonesia term for the cockatoo.
‘That bandage suits you, Amy,’ said Mac, nodding at the Indonesian’s broken nose. ‘Might be more where that came from, you play it right.’
Sudarto lashed out with a kick and turning his head slightly, Mac took it on the ear and fell sideways.
Waiting for death, Mac thought about a good life, a loving family and a lot of luck. He thought about the chances he’d had to show courage and how many times he’d failed, but also the times he’d prevailed – like the time
