So will we, thought Bowman. We’re preparing for the fight of our lives.
He hurried over to the Unimog to unpack the remaining boxes of 7.62 mm belt. The soldiers under Mavinda’s command were frantically burning down vegetation or piling earth on top of logs around the fire pits. To the east, two men from the Presidential Guard carted an aerial ladder over to the guest house. One of the guards held the base while the second raised the fly section until the top rung drew level with the guest house rooftop. They braced the ladder against the façade and started scaling towards the roof to set up another firing position.
At the front of the mansion, Gregory and the Karatandan soldier with the toothbrush moustache were preparing one of the platoon’s FN machine guns in a fire pit. The weapon looked essentially the same as the Gimpys used by the Cell. But older, battered and rusting, with a scratched wooden stock.
Mallet checked his watch and shouted across at Bowman. ‘That’s it! We’re going topside. Hurry the fuck up!’
Bowman ripped open the lids from the last three boxes of GPMG ammo. He draped the gleaming belts around his neck, snatched up his rifle, and hastened towards the mansion with Mallet. They ran up the grand staircase, hit the second-floor landing and passed down a hallway lined with portraits of Seguma in various heroic poses: riding a horse, Seguma the hunter posing with a dead lion, Seguma in uniform inspecting the troops. They barged through the emergency fire exit, climbed a dank stairwell and cannoned through the door at the top.
The rooftop was a chaotic cluster of satellite dishes, antennae, solar panels and air-conditioning units. Rubbish and gravel littered the ground. The other members of the team had taken up firing positions along the decorative stone parapet. Loader was covering the eastern approach to the stronghold with one of the two GPMGs. Webb had a spot on the north side overlooking the ground to the front. He was in a kneeling stance, aiming his AWC rifle through one of the perforated gaps in the parapet wall. As well as the heavy weaponry each man also had his primary rifle, pistol and several frag grenades. A massive amount of firepower.
Let’s pray we don’t need to burn through it all.
‘Get on the other Gimpy,’ Mallet ordered. ‘Move!’
Bowman ran past the central skylight and darted over to the second GPMG resting on the floor next to the west-facing parapet. Mallet made for the .50 cal rifle along the southern wall, covering the rear of the estate. Bowman laid out the belts of 7.62 mm ammo he’d carried up from the Unimog, placing them on top of the seven other belts heaped next to the Gimpy. Two hundred rounds per belt. A total of two thousand bullets.
Bowman knelt beside the Gimpy, cocked the bolt on the side of the receiver and engaged the safety. He popped open the top cover, lifted up the belt of 7.62 mm from the top of the pile and inserted the end of it into the feed tray. Closed the cover. Glanced at his watch.
Sixteen minutes until first light.
‘See anything, Patrick?’ Loader said.
‘Nothing,’ Webb replied calmly. ‘It’s all clear out there.’
‘Where do you think they’ll hit us, John?’ asked Bowman.
‘The front,’ Mallet said. ‘It’s the most obvious route into the estate. No gate. If they’re going to attack us, that’s where the bastards will probably come from.’
‘They’re not military geniuses, Josh,’ Loader said dismissively. ‘We’re dealing with the Machete Boys. A bunch of pissed idiots. They’re not gonna sneak up on our flanks.’
‘Alex? You OK down there too?’ Mallet said into his mic.
‘This may come as a huge surprise to you guys,’ Casey said, ‘but I’m doing just fine.’
‘Don’t start putting down rounds with the mortar until I give the order. Stick to your rifle for now. We want to save the heavy stuff until they start coming at us en masse.’
‘Do you want to tell me how to use a gun as well?’
Mallet laughed.
Casey said, ‘Don’t worry about me, guys. Look after yourselves.’
Bowman rested the Gimpy on top of the stone parapet and scanned the ground to the north-west. In the murky half-light before dawn he could make out the ornamental garden below, the mortar pit beside the crumbling wall on the northern edge of the garden. The irrigation ditch to the north of the garden wall, with the two Claymores planted at the bottom of the trench. Further west a pair of gun pits guarded the flank. In the far distance, Bowman could just about see the outline of a clump of trees.
Everyone watched and waited.
Eleven minutes until first light.
‘Still quiet,’ Webb said.
‘Won’t stay that way for long,’ Loader said. ‘The Machete Boys will know we’re here. The only question is when they’re going to hit us. And how hard.’
They continued watching. Mallet checked his phone for messages from Six. Loader ran downstairs to get a brew on. He came back a short while later with a two-litre coffee flask, cups, loaves of bread, a bag of apples. The team helped themselves to mugs of hot black coffee while Webb observed the front approach road. Occasionally, he would get tired of peering through the scope and look up, scanning the ground with his naked eye. The treetops were alive with the predawn chorus of birdsong and primates, announcing the coming of the new day.
Maybe our last, Bowman thought.
Six minutes before first light.
‘Anything, guys?’ Loader called out.
‘Nothing,’ Webb replied.
‘Same,’ Mallet said.
‘Any word on those inbound Hercs?’ Bowman asked.
‘On their way. No change. Still due to land at eight o’clock.’
Bowman checked his watch: 05.25.
There’s a long way to go yet, he thought.
‘Where will they land?’ Loader asked. ‘The main airport is out of action.’
‘They’ll fragment,’ said Mallet. ‘SFSG and the SBS detachments will head for an RV in the north of the
