beast; his right arm was almost torn from the shoulder and was thrown above his head in a ghastly parody of surrender.
She stared at him numbly and tried to say his name. No sound came from her throat. She reached out and caressed his face, not daring to touch that terribly mutilated body. She felt a terrible sense of loss and opened her mouth again to give vent to her grief with a wail of despair. It came out in a wild shriek of rage. The force of her rage stunned her and seemed to impel her out of her own body so that she watched herself from afar, amazed by the actions of this savage stranger who had usurped her body and who now lunged for the missile launcher where it lay beside Job's body.
She found herself on her feet with the missile launcher on her right shoulder, searching the sky for the Hind gunship. It was four hundred meters away, cruising the foot of the hill, sweeping over the forest, picking out its targets from among the trees and destroying them with short but terrible blasts of its forward cannon.
As she turned to face it, standing fully upright in the daylight glare of the fires, the pilot must have spotted her, for he swiveled the gunship on its axis, bringing the cannon in the pod below his cockpit to bear upon her.
'Locked and loaded,' she said, and the voice was strange in her ears as she repeated the litany of death.
'Actuator on.' She saw the image of the Hind appear in the tiny screen before her eyes, and she centered it in the cross hair on the amung ring. The missile sobbed, then steadied into its high-pitched electronic tone.
'Target acquired,' she whispered, feeling no fear as the silhouette of the Hind altered in her sight screen. Now it was facing her head-on, its cannon almost bearing, the gunner traversing fractionally to pick up her tiny figure in his own sights.
'Fire!' she said quie4ly, and squeezed the pistol grip. The shoulder pad 'olted her 4s the Stinger launched, and she slitted her eyes i V
against the backblast of the missile as it sped away at four times the speed of sound, running straight and true at , the hovering machine.
The cannon in the Hind's nose blazed, but Claudia felt only the disrupted air of shot passing close over her head before the missile jerked almost imperceptibly and arrowed unerringly into the open throat of the machine's turbo intakes. The Hind had only a few feet to drop before it hit the earth and rolled over onto its side. In the moments before it was totally engulfed by burning fuel from the punctured belly tank, Claudia saw the panicky contortions of the pilot trapped under the armored canopy.
Then he was obliterated in a wall of flame.
'That was a human being,' she thought. 'A living, breathing person, and I destroyed him. she expected a rush of guilt and remorse.
How much a part of her was the belief that all life, especially human life, was sacred. The guilt did not come. Instead, she was borne aloft on a wave of savage triumph, the same berserk fury that had overtaken her so unexpectedly- sky for another she looked around her swiftly, searching the target, something else to destroy, anything to wreak her vengeance on. The dawn Sky was empty. The burning carcasses of Hind gunships lay strewn over the slopes of the hill and among the trees of the valley forest. They all down,' she thought. 'We got them all.'
Stinger sections were From the forest, the Shanganes of the swarming up the hill, breaking into the laager to support Sean's 0 defenders throwing down their weapassault. She saw the Frelim ons and cowering in their dugouts with hands raised pathetically, attempting to surrender. She watched dispassionately as the yelling Shanganes bayoneted and clubbed them like slaughtered chickens.
At her feet Job groaned, and instantly her rage was gone. She flung the empty missile launcher aside and dropped down on her knees beside him. wound the 'I thought you were dead!' she whispered as she un scarf from around her neck with fingers that only now began t tremble. 'Don't die, Job. Please don't die.' The scarf was stained with sweat and dust, its seams were unraveled and torn, but she balled it up and stuffed it into the terrible wound, pressing down on it with her full weight to try and stanch the flood of his LIFE's blood.
'Sean will be here soon,' she told him. Don die, Job. Fight, please fight. I'll help you.'
Sean and Matatu crouched below the parapet, ducking lower as the storm of cannon fire flew only inches over their heads and filled their eyes and nostrils with dust from the ripped sandbags.
The instant the firing Ceased, Sean bobbed up, just in time to see the stricken Hind fall tail first against the rocky hillside and tear itself to pieces as it rolled down the slope.
'Well, blow me down, those damned Stingers actually work!'
g high on his own fear. Beside him Matatu he laughed, still flyin giggled and clapped his hands. 'Like shooting sand grouse with the577 bandukil' he cried in Swahili, then leaped to his feet to follow Sean over the Parapet.
Three Frelimo troopers bolted out of their dugout as they saw them coming, and Sean fired the AKM from the hip, a short tap that caught one of them low in the back and flung him facedown.
The other two threw down their rifles and fell to their knees, gibbering with terror, hands held high over their heads. Sean ran on past them, and they collapsed with relief as he ignored them.
Sean was through the outer defenses and into the laager proper with its service areas and hardened helicopter emplacements. The workshops and fuel dumps were heavily sandbagged and covered with camouflage netting. Stray mortar shells were still falling among them, kicking up geysers of dust and gusts of whistling shrapnel. One of the Hinds had fallen near the far perimeter of the laager and was burning fiercely, oily black smoke billowing back over the workshops.
In the confusion, human figures scurried about without apparent purpose, unarmed technicians in baggy gray overalls who flung up their arms when they saw Sean, most of them dropping onto their knees to emphasize their surrender. In full camouflage paint and with the bloodlust and elation of battle contorting his features, Sean cut a ferocious and terrifying figure.
'Down!' Sean gestured at them with the barrel of the AKM and with transparent relief they fell facedown in the dust and clasped their hands behind their heads.
Just ahead he made out the long, drooping rotors of a Hind protruding above the sandbagged wall of its emplacement.
'One didn't even get up,' he thought as he raced toward it, but at that moment the rotors began to revolve slowly, swiftly building up speed. Somebody was attempting to start the machine.
Sean darted through the narrow entrance and into the deep circular emplacement. He checked his charge for a moment to survey the interior.
The Hind in its blotched camouflage towered over him, its rotors whirling over his head as they built up to start speed on the Isotov turbo engine. Three RtIssian ground crew were crowded around the front of the timchine, and incongruously Sean noticed the crimson arrow emblem painted on the Hind's nose that designated them an 'Excellent Crew,' one of the cherished performance awards of the Soviet air force.
The ground crew turned their white faces toward Scan and gaped at him. He jerked the muzzle of the AKM at them, and they fell back.
ckpit of the helicopter was still The canopy of the weapons co open, and one of the flight crew was clambering up into it. Only his plump backside in gray flying overalls protruded. Sean reached up between his legs and seized a handful of the man's genitals. The Russian squealed shrilly as Sean used them as a handle to drag him backward and threw him against the sandbagged side wall of the emplacement.
The spinning rotors whistled shrilly as the turbo engine caught, and Sean jumped up onto the boarding step of the helicopter. The pilot's canopy was also open, and Sean thrust his AKM forward.
The pilot at the controls was young and thin, with pale blond hair cut very short. In his haste to get the Hind away he had not even donned his flying helmet. He turned his head to look at Sean.
His complexion was marred by angry purple and red acne and his eyes were very pale blue. They widened dramatically as Sean touched the tip of his acne-scarred nose with the muzzle of the AKM and said, 'Party is over, Ivan. Let's go home.'
It was apparent that this helicopter had not been scheduled for the dawn sortie that morning and the pilot and his crew had only begun their attempt to get the machine airborne once the attack had begun. It was less than ten minutes since the first mortar shells had fallen into the laager, not enough time, though they had almost made it.
'Kill the engine,' Sean told the pilot. He enforced the order by jamming the muzzle of the AKM into the pilot's nose with sufficient force to bring a smear of blood from one nostril and tears from both of the pale eyes. Reluctantly the pilot pushed the fuel mixture control to fully lean and cut both master switches. The whistle of the turbo died away.
'Out!' said Sean. The pilot understood the gesture and tone, if not the word. He unclasped his safety belt and climbed down into the laager.
Sean lined up the pilot, the flight engineer, and the three members of the ground crew against the sandbagged wall. 'Welcome to the capitalist world, comrades,' he greeted them, then looked back at the helicopter. 'Jackpot!' He grinned, still euphoric with the adrenaline in his blood. 'We've got ourselves a real live, working Hind, Matatu!'
Matatu was having a grand time. 'Let's kill them now,' he suggested merrily. 'Give me the banduki. Let
