‘It’s the biggest hovercraft ever built,’ said Richard easily to the new minister for the outer delta, Patience Aganga, as two of the Zubrs he was describing came into view cruising across the harbour. ‘It’s just under sixty metres long and twenty-five wide. It has a displacement of five hundred and fifty tons but when the cushion is up it has a draft of less than one and a half metres, though it sits just over twenty metres high. It can carry more than one hundred tons — three T80 main battle tanks, for instance, and it goes at nearly fifty knots — that’s the better part of sixty miles per hour. It’s bristling with rocket launchers, thirty-millimetre cannons and air missile defence systems. Or it would be if Mr Asov and Mr Makarov were permitted to import fully-functioning armaments. It has an armoured command post and sealed combat stations for when the going gets tough. That’s almost as much firepower as a naval corvette on a platform that moves as rapidly as a fast patrol boat, with a draft only half a metre deeper than what a patrol boat has. The Russian and Ukranian navies have them and so do the Greeks — though they’ll probably have to put them up for sale soon — and the Chinese navy has half a dozen. Max has been negotiating with the government to supply these vessels. But the removal of your predecessor put things back.’
‘I am aware of the basic statistics,’ answered Minister Aganga, her square face folding into the faintest frown. ‘I have only assumed ministerial responsibility relatively recently but I have taken the opportunity to go through my predecessor’s papers.’
‘Pay no attention to him, Minister. It’s just boy toy talk,’ said Robin, who had bonded with the dumpy, bespectacled schoolmarm at once. She received a grin in reply. Then Patience Aganga put her serious face back on and straightened her glasses.
Richard shook his head gently, watching his ghostly reflection in the minister’s panoramic office window. Then his eyes refocused. The huge hovercrafts were speeding full ahead now, skipping across the water like skimmed stones. Each one threw up a massive wall of spray to port and starboard of its long, lean, grey hull, which was almost thick enough to conceal the three great turbofans that powered each of the huge vessels. Almost high enough to cloak the tall bridge houses that sat midships like the command bridges of the corvettes that the hovercraft so nearly resembled.
‘The bottom line is this, Minister,’ persisted Felix. ‘We can crew these vessels and use them to transport Colonel Kebila and his command as well as our own expedition up the river. They have, as you may know, already been used successfully to navigate right past the outer and inner deltas as far as the orphanage and refuge run by Mr Asov’s daughter and — until quite recently — the leader of the opposition, the president’s daughter, Celine.’
‘Indeed,’ answered Patience dryly. ‘Who has not heard of the great battle that led to the defeat of the Army of Christ the Infant and its leader, the murderous Moses Nlong.’
‘But, as is the nature of such things,’ rejoined Richard, turning back, ‘the winning of a battle is not the same as the winning of a war. And Moses Nlong might be dead, but he’s been replaced.’
‘By Colonel Odem.’ Patience nodded. ‘Yes. The president held a ministerial security briefing. Colonel Kebila addressed us in some detail. I am aware of what is at stake. And I have been directed to afford you all the help I can. You may therefore arm your huge hovercrafts. You may use your own trained crews or crews our navy will be happy to supply. Of course, you will be taking Colonel Kebila and his command aboard, but you may also expect to take anyone else you can fly in on time — or anyone else we can assign to you from our own personnel. We are to treat this as a war situation. Before it becomes a war, in fact.’
History
The space inside the Zubr Stalingrad was massive, echoing like a hangar. Twenty-five metres wide and fifty metres deep from the bow ramp at the front to the stern ramp at the back. The floor space was twelve hundred and fifty square metres. It stood eight metres high so the cubic capacity was just on ten thousand cubic metres. And it was still only about a third of the width of the whole vessel, because there were bulkheads on either side, behind which were the main power plants, troop compartments, crews’ quarters and a range of battle-orientated life-support systems. Richard strode up and into the huge space as soon as the front ramp was fully open and resting on the concrete of the slipway at his feet. He walked purposefully across the echoing vacancy to the nearest companionway, talking statistics to Patience Aganga as she followed him. The booming of his voice echoed, like his brisk footsteps, as though this were a massive cave.
Felix trailed along behind the minister, seemingly content to let Richard, motivated by nothing other than his relentlessly boyish enthusiasm, deliver an uncalculated — but clearly effective — sales pitch. None of them was having any trouble keeping up, either physically or mentally. The minister seemed fit and fleet of foot in spite of her dumpy figure and advancing years. Nor had she seemed unduly overcome by the sheer size and power of the huge hovercraft as it had come sailing up the slipway in preparation to take them aboard for a quick tour, in spite of the fact that it was preceded by a gale of dust and spray that battered them until the vessel’s bulging black skirts finished deflating, and the minister could at last let go of her own too dangerously inflated skirts and try, a little pointlessly, to restore some order to her coiffeur. Robin, wise to what was coming and careful of her clothing, dignity and hairstyle, had made her excuses at the end of the meeting and was heading back to the hotel through the bustle of Granville Harbour’s seemingly permanent rush hour.
Richard ran confidently upwards now, therefore, counting off the deck levels in his head until he had no option but to cross inwards to a stairway and lift shaft midships before climbing more companionways up the centre of the bridge above the weather deck. Finally, he walked forward and found himself in a strange, almost circular command bridge, amid a bustle of officers and crewmen. He turned to Patience Aganga. ‘This is where we really start our tour,’ he announced. ‘The heart and the head of the ship.’
Captain Caleb Maina was standing beside Captain Zhukov, commander of the huge vessel, and only the fact that he was clean-shaven really made it possible to distinguish him from his cousin, Colonel Laurent Kebila. The captains’ heads, one dark and the other grey, were close together as they went through some kind of manifest on a laptop. Caleb Maina, a captain in Benin La Bas’s navy, was almost fully trained now as a Zubr captain and was as capable as Zhukov of commanding the sister vessel Volgograd sitting on the broad slipway beside this one. He looked up as the little group arrived, threw Richard a companionable smile, then snapped to attention and saluted the minister formally. Zhukov did the same, his white walrus moustache quivering. But it was hard to tell whether his salute was aimed at the minister or at Felix.
‘Now, Minister,’ said Felix, taking over from Richard much more calculatedly and pointedly, ‘I expect the two captains are just checking the most vital elements aboard. Especially under the present circumstances, that would be armaments, of course.’
‘Hopefully you won’t need them,’ said Patience Aganga. ‘But I’m aware of the basic armaments of the vessel and can expedite the movement of ammunition from our naval stores. As far as I can see, much of what the Zubrs carry is compatible with what we have aboard our corvettes, as I’m sure Captain Maina will confirm if he hasn’t done so already. Beyond that, the president’s plan is simply to expedite the movement of Colonel Kebila’s men and let them sort out the problem of Colonel Odem and his Army of Christ with minimal interference, while you proceed further upriver towards Lac Dudo.’