The remaining stragglers fled towards the cover of the treeline, running as fast as their legs could carry them in their desperation to escape the killing ground. Mallet shot one guy in the back as he legged it across the road. The remainder disappeared into the woods to lick their wounds before the defenders could rip them to shreds.
Bowman stopped firing. So did the others.
The fight had lasted no more than ten seconds. He counted more than twenty bodies on the ground in the clearing. Which was more than two-thirds of the attacking force. The Boys hadn’t even had the chance to loose off a few rounds at the stronghold. They had been crushed. Annihilated. The definition of a one-sided victory. Like a football team racing into a five-nil lead before half-time.
Bowman focused on the treeline in case any of the surviving Boys came back for another go. But the ground remained quiet. No rebels came charging out of the woods.
‘That should shut the bastards up,’ Loader said after several moments.
Mallet stared at the dead in the clearing and nodded slightly. ‘For a while, aye.’
‘You think they’ll come back?’ asked Webb.
‘They have to,’ Mallet said. ‘They’ll know the president’s family are inside now. The Machete Boys will work that out pretty fast. They’ll be better prepared next time.’
‘They’ll want to avenge their dead mates, too,’ Bowman said.
‘Let ’em try,’ Loader said with a snort. ‘They haven’t got a clue when it comes to tactics. We could slot these jokers in our sleep.’
‘Everyone OK down there?’ Mallet asked over the radio.
Three OKs came back. First Casey, then Gregory, then Mavinda. Mallet briefly updated the major on the situation at the front of the stronghold. The brief skirmish with the Machete Boys. Their ragged retreat into the woods. Everyone seemed confident. No one was panicking. They had just given the enemy a licking without taking casualties of their own. And they had a stack of ammunition left to expend. Bowman rubbed his aching, tired eyes and looked down at his G-Shock: 00.44. More than two hours until D Squadron was due to land at the private airfield.
Mallet was squinting at his damaged phone screen.
‘Anything from Six?’ Loader said.
‘No news,’ Mallet said back. ‘The airfield is still clear. D Squadron’s still due to arrive at eight o’clock.’
‘Any reports of KUF rebels in the area?’ Bowman asked.
‘Not as far as we know.’
Webb looked at him with a serious expression. ‘Do you think they might come here?’
Bowman shrugged. ‘Mike told us the KUF and the Machete Boys are allies. The Boys are bound to alert General Kakuba. For all we know, his men might be on their way already.’
Mallet tore off a piece of bread, popped it into his mouth. ‘If those guys were nearby,’ he said. ‘We’d know about it. Six would have sounded the alarm.’
Webb gazed out across the treeline, eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of movement among the shadows.
‘How long until the Boys come at us again, do you think?’ he said.
‘Half an hour,’ Mallet said. ‘Maybe a little longer. They’ll probably wait for their mates to turn up before they have another crack at us.’
‘Bastards will want to get some booze in their system and all,’ Loader chipped in. ‘We’ve just given them a serious fright. They’ll need some Dutch courage to get over it.’
Bowman looked from the abandoned technical to the stone archway at the front of the estate. A thought slowly taking shape.
‘We should block that archway with that technical. Seal off the estate from the approach road. Stop any vehicles from getting through.’
‘How?’ asked Loader.
‘We can use one of those Land Rovers we saw parked out front.’ Bowman pointed to the entrance. ‘Hook the winch around the technical and drag it over. That would make a decent barrier.’
‘Good idea,’ Mallet said. ‘Go down there and sort it out.’
‘I’ll need some help.’
‘Get a few of the major’s men to lend a hand. We’ll stay on the rooftop and watch for enemy movement. If we see anything, we’ll let you know. And make it quick. Those fuckers will be back soon enough.’
*
Bowman raced across the rooftop to the fire exit. As he hurried down the stairwell, he raised Mavinda on the radio and told him to send over half a dozen guys to meet him at the front of the estate. He ran down the second-floor corridor, past the heroic paintings of Seguma. Down the staircase. Through the front door.
The six Karatandan soldiers were waiting for him on the steps. Toothbrush, Pockmark and Lanky. Plus three others. Bowman led them over to the three mud-caked Land Rover Defenders parked to the left of the entrance. He got into the lead Defender with Toothbrush and Pockmark. The other four climbed into the second wagon. There was no need to mess around looking for the keys. Gregory had confirmed that they had been left inside the vehicles. Bowman gunned the engine and swung away from the mansion. He sheered around the grotesque fountain, the second Defender close behind as he sped towards the front of the estate four hundred metres away.
Bowman pulled up a few metres short of the stone-built archway, with the vehicle facing straight down the throat of the approach road. The second Defender halted two metres to the rear. Bowman left the engine running, engaged the parking brake and got out with Toothbrush and Pockmark. The four Karatandans debussed from the other Defender. They gathered around as Bowman gestured towards the clearing littered with the dead Machete Boys.
‘Spread out across there,’ he said. ‘Get into firing positions. You see anyone coming through that treeline or down the road, you shoot. Don’t hesitate.’
Toothbrush led his muckers across the clearing, dodging the broken bodies. Half of the soldiers fanned out and took up positions facing out to the woods. The others cleared the stretch of blacktop between the technical and the archway, dragging several corpses into
