he had been an instant earlier.
Up he sprang. The crest was metres away. A bullet slammed across his back. He felt it burn like a branding iron. Another bullet hit his lower leg somewhere but his movement was not affected. He dived for the ridge and rolled over it. Bullets tore up the crest behind him. He scrambled to his feet and pushed on.
He could see the girl further down the slope running as fast as she could. She glanced back to see Stratton coming after her and as she faced the front again she tripped and went sprawling down the slope. Dazed, she clambered to her feet just as Stratton caught up with her. He grabbed her shirt and yanked her on, keeping hold of her until she was running with him.
They heard the crash of rifle fire in their direction and the sound of bullets slashing into the ground nearby. Stratton couldn’t feel the pain in his back and leg, his adrenaline pumping hard through his veins. He wondered if the warriors would use the pick-ups. All the more reason for them to get to the river as soon as humanly possible.
They came to the bottom of the trough and ran hard to the top of the next rise. A handful of jihadists had made it to the crest behind them and opened fire. Stratton heard the girl make a grunting sound behind him. He quickly looked back to see if she had been hit. She appeared to have twisted her ankle but not enough to slow her by much and she soon recovered to keep up with him.
As several more rounds struck around them, they tore over the crest and down the other side. Out of sight of their pursuers. But not for long if they didn’t keep up the pace.
Their next target was a couple of hundred metres away. The ground levelled out as they headed for the river. Dense scrub covered the broad lowland plain up ahead. Thin and patchy knee-high bushes grew on the outskirts but thick foliage was not far beyond.
They reached the low brush without a shot being fired at them. Stratton could feel his heart pounding in his chest with the effort but he would keep up the pace until it exploded. It was that or a bullet in the back.
The rounds came at them again but sporadic and poorly aimed. Only a handful of the faster warriors had made it to the rise behind them and these men were not great shots. The AK-47 wasn’t accurate at long range.
The denser bushes looked like a dark-green wall and Stratton crashed right through, the brittle twigs painfully scratching and cutting his skin. The girl followed his path and although spared having to make the way through was whipped heavily by the catapulting branches he created.
Running quickly became impossible as the scrub density increased. They maintained as fast a walk as they could. Pushing their way through. The bushes were now above their waists but they were still targets. They finally made the higher foliage and went inside. The density only increased. They were making a lot of noise. Stratton was aware that at some point they would have to compromise speed for sound and reduced disturbance – the moving tops of the bushes would give away their position. He wanted to get closer to the river before they went to ground so that they could quench their thirsts. He knew that however bad he felt, the girl was going to be in a far worse state. He could feel and hear she was close by and still pushing on relentlessly.
Stratton crouched lower and they struck some really thick scrub so he paused to catch his breath and assess the situation. He could hear the jihadists crashing through the bush back where they had entered the mass. The thick bushes ahead of them were like barbed wire: hard to get through but still easy enough to see through. They didn’t provide great cover from view. If anyone came within ten metres or so, they were likely to see them.
They had to remove the evidence of their train and Stratton got down on to his belly and began crawling between the bushes. The girl followed.
A sudden crash from a nearby flank and Stratton and the girl stopped moving. Several fighters were attempting to push through to their right. Voices followed. They were close. The snapping sounds increased but gradually began heading away.
Stratton examined the way ahead. ‘How you doing?’ he whispered.
She nodded. Her face was freshly cut in places and she looked exhausted. But the fight was still in her eyes.
‘We can survive this,’ he said. ‘Come nightfall, we’ll get back to the coast.’
She took encouragement from his words. ‘I’ll be OK.’
‘Let’s take it nice and easy and head for the river.’ If the water’s not far out in the open, he added to himself.
He looked for the sun through the branches to get his bearings. If they kept in an easterly direction they should cut across the river, which ran north–south.
Staying on their bellies, they manoeuvred around the obstacles. They could hear movement around them and occasional shouts like the warriors had found their trail. But as time went on the voices and movement came from further away. Stratton’s confidence increased, for the time being at least. The enemy obviously knew they were in the immediate area because there was nowhere else for them to go without becoming exposed. But the densely covered plain was large and as the jihadists broadened their search area, the chances of finding the pair would be reduced.
Stratton and the girl pressed on ahead at an easy pace, pausing every now and then to take a breather and listen. The sound of enemy searchers grew less. The air was warm and felt much more humid than in the town. Both were feeling desperate for a drink. Stratton crawled around the base of a tree and as he carefully parted a clump of bushes, it looked clearer up ahead. He hoped the riverbed was close, but more importantly, that it wasn’t dry at that point. If so they were going to spend a very uncomfortable day waiting for the sun to go down.
As he crawled closer to the edge of the scrub, to his immense relief he could see water ahead, shimmering under the cloudless sky. He crawled to the edge of the line of bushes. The riverbank was within a few metres, the water’s edge a few paces further beyond. The opposite bank looked a good hundred metres or so away. He got up on to his knees and looked as far up and down the river as he could, expecting to see evidence of the jihadists. There was none. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. He would have placed observation posts at various locations to watch for anyone emerging from the scrub. The same dense bushes covered the ground beyond the other side of the river.
Stratton contemplated the risk of getting a drink there and then or waiting until darkness. The latter would be the wisest choice. But they would be in a weakened state by then. He did not think the Somalis were particularly diligent. But the risk was still too great.
He eased himself up on to his feet to get a better look around. The river, or lake as it was then, stretched out of view in both directions. It was indeed a large body of water. He wasn’t encouraged by the smell of the air and hoped it wasn’t the water.
Stratton gauged the position of the sun. It had to be close to midday. He looked at the girl to see her staring at the water. ‘We can’t risk it,’ he said.
She didn’t argue, knowing he was right. She would happily suffer the pain and mental anguish of thirst in place of the consequences of being caught.
‘Another six hours and the sun will begin to set,’ he said. ‘We’ll head back into the bush in case they patrol the bank. As soon as the sun drops, we’ll get a drink and head for the coast.’
‘Your back,’ she said, her voice raspy.
Stratton had forgotten about his wounds. Both had stopped hurting. He went to check his leg and for a second had to think which one it was. He found the wound on the back of his right calf, an ugly cut but a large scab had already formed. As he examined it, the calf began to throb once again.
‘Let me look at your back,’ she said, noticing the bloodstain that ran down on to his trousers.
Stratton started to remove his shirt but it was stuck to his back. As he pulled it off, the wound began to throb near his right shoulder blade.
‘It’s bleeding a little,’ she said as she used a corner of his shirt to dab it. ‘You were lucky.’
‘I have often been told that. But if I am lucky, how did I get into this mess in the first place?’
‘You put a lot of effort into it,’ she said. ‘It will add to all the other scars you have.’
He pulled the shirt back on, impressed with her attitude. They were still in great danger and the odds on her getting out of Somalia alive were not good. ‘Come on,’ he said, preparing to make his way back through the bush on his knees. ‘If we can sleep, it will help ease the pain.’
She followed him. When they were several metres inside the scrub, he dropped down in the dirt and forced his body to relax completely. She lowered her head on to the sandy soil and did the same. Her eyes closed and she
