Reaching for the girl — who looked the older of the two — Mac grabbed at her arm as she pulled it back. She was protective, pulling the sheet over both of the kids, and hiding the boy behind her.
‘In the sap,’ said Mac, using the Khmer word for river. ‘We swim in the sap.’
The girl shook her head — she was scared but brave and Mac had a flash of a choice: he could do the Harold, not tell anyone he’d left the kids on Dozsa’s boat and leave them out of the report entirely. But he let the weak man’s mind take over and started thinking like a father — wouldn’t want someone to walk away from his own daughters if they were in danger.
Boots thumped on the upper deck. Grabbing the girl by the arm, Mac pulled back, dragging her over the bloody sheets and the corpse, till she flopped onto the floor. She stood and opened her arms to the boy, who scrabbled over the dead rock spider to the safety of what Mac assumed was his sister.
The door almost hit Mac in the forehead as it flung open, and then Mac was looking into a soldier’s eyes.
Chapter 58
The soldier’s hand went to his side arm and Mac drove his open hand at a point just below the man’s nostrils.
Head snapping back like Howdy Doody, the soldier’s knees buckled under him and Mac pounced, slashing his Ka-bar knife as the adversary went down. Raising his arm instinctively the soldier took the knife blow across the forearm, which opened up and spurted blood like a cherub pissing.
Rolling away the soldier swept a low kick and hit Mac in the back of the right leg, making him fall forwards and lose the knife as he hit the wall. Transferring his weight onto his right shoulder, the soldier lashed out with a left foot at Mac’s face, which he deflected by shrugging his shoulder and tucking his chin behind it.
Jumping on the soldier, Mac hit him in the heart and followed through with a dropping headbutt, but the soldier turned his face at the last second and Mac’s forehead bounced off the boards. Stunned momentarily, Mac watched an elbow fly into his mouth and then the soldier’s fingers were in his hair and a knee was pumping into his face, smashing his nose and splitting his cheek before Mac punched the Chinaman in the nuts and rose to his feet with a left uppercut and a jab to the bloke’s throat.
Falling backwards onto his arse, the soldier saw a chance to grab his pistol and Mac tried to retrieve the M4 from its position on his shoulder blades. As the muzzles came around at each other, another soldier walked into the passageway, reaching for his own gun. In the confusion and the darkness, Mac took his chance and put bursts of three-shot into each man. A bullet sailed past his left ear and he ducked reflexively, too slow to have avoided it.
Blood splattered the walls and cordite filled the confined space as Mac gasped for breath. Blood ran off his face, and his right leg — already injured from a gunshot wound — quivered beneath him. It wouldn’t hold after the adrenaline wore off.
The noise had been deafening and Mac heard the sound of boots clattering and voices raised in panic. Turning, he couldn’t find the kids. Peering into the cabin, he saw them sitting in the corner.
‘Come on,’ he said, gesturing with his hand. The girl shook her head but the boy shrugged free and ran to Mac.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw a shadow moving around the corner and into the passageway. Given the layout of the vessel Mac reckoned that since he’d killed four of the ship’s complement, there wouldn’t be more than six left: if you took away the captain and engineer, whom he assumed were non-combatants, Mac should have four soldiers to deal with.
As the shadow shortened and a small scrape sounded around the corner, Mac opened up with the M4, tearing out chunks of the woodwork and putting holes in the far wall. A yelp sounded and Mac knew he’d either hit someone or they’d got a face full of splinters.
‘Now,’ said Mac, snapping at the girl, and she jumped up with hands over her ears and ran to Mac.
Moving with the kids onto the poop deck, Mac kept to the cover of the veranda, suspecting one of those soldiers would’ve stayed on the top deck and would have a gun trained on the open area below.
Standing in the shadows, Mac looked out over the railing: forty metres to the river bank, at least three soldiers with assault rifles and Mac having to haul two kids through the water. He didn’t like his chances, even if they could get into the water without taking a bullet. The choice was between running and dying, or fighting and dying.
Voices yelled down the companionways and a board squeaked above them. Holding his breath, Mac waited. The squeak came again, this time right above his head and Mac pointed the M4 at the source of the noise, pushed the selector to full auto and pulled the trigger. After four seconds, he slung the rifle over his shoulders and looked at the kids, who had their hands cupped over their ears.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, running forwards with a hand holding each child’s bicep. As they got to the railing, he leapt over the top rail and the kids jumped with him, the boy hitting his knees on the top as they flew through the air.
The river sucked them down as they hit, a swifter current created between the ship and the river bank. Mac held onto each bicep, trading off their panic at being held with the larger problem of losing them in the Mekong River at night.
Surfacing, they gasped for breath and kicked for buoyancy as they looked around. The current had taken them beyond the ship, which seemed to have slowed. Looking along the starboard side they’d jumped off, Mac saw a soldier limping along the top deck, trying to get a sight on Mac and the kids. Another soldier trotted around the forward cargo hatches with a Chinese AK-47 and took a standing marksman stance on the fo’c’sle railing over the prow.
‘Under again,’ said Mac, making a theatrical display of taking a deep breath.
They dived again as the bullets plopped in the water. Kicking sideways towards the bank, Mac counted twenty seconds before he felt the boy struggling, and they surfaced again.
Looking around, using all his energy to keep the three of them afloat, Mac saw the ship pointing at them. The Chinese were trying to run them down.
Looking to the bank, Mac saw another thirty metres of swim- ming — twenty-five if they were lucky. The ship wouldn’t want to go too shallow, but the river vessels had flat bottoms and didn’t worry too much about grounding.
‘Go,’ said Mac to the two kids. ‘Swim.’ He pointed to the river bank.
Dog-paddling ineffectually, the children took off at a pace that would see them run down in twenty seconds. Reaching for his M4, Mac shrugged it off his back and into his hands as the bullets hit the river again. Lifting the rifle, he took aim as he trod water and shot at the soldier on the fo’c’sle. He missed but the slap of a bullet under the soldier’s feet made him lurch backwards and abandon his post for a few seconds.
‘Go — swim!’ Mac yelled at the kids over the sound of the approaching ship and the clatter of assault-rifle fire.
The limping soldier joined his buddy on the fo’c’sle rail and Mac aimed a shot at his heart, pulling the trigger. The gun jammed and Mac ducked under the water as the two shooters opened up on him.
Dropping the M4, Mac unholstered the SIG and unscrewed the suppressor. He estimated the ship was five seconds from running over the top of him.
Rising to the surface, SIG in cup-and-saucer grip, Mac let off three shots at the fo’c’sle rail but the shooters were gone. He fired another volley at the window of the wheelhouse.
Gunfire echoed from the vessel and an almighty blast of light and sound emanated from the far side of the ship.