As Victor ran he glanced back once again, hoping to see Stratton, but there was no sign of him. He feared he had been shot and was lying somewhere on the slope.
He ran on, suppressing any thought of stopping to make sure of the Englishman’s fate. Stratton had made his sacrifice to give Victor and the others a chance to get away and for them to get themselves killed or captured would make a mockery of it.
A shadow moved across Victor although the sky was cloudless and he heard a strange flapping sound coming from overhead. He turned to look, his gaze angling skyward. Something big hung just below the sun. He squinted, recognising what it was, and could not believe his eyes.
Stratton gave him an easy wave as he sailed past beneath the green chute with its red dragon emblazoned across it.
Victor was filled with emotion, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He roared. ‘Go, my eagle. Go!’ he shouted as he laughed. ‘I am your slave! I am your slave!’
David looked up and around at Stratton and was stunned.
The Indians did not know what to make of the spectacle, Mohesiwa tripping and falling on his face because he was so distracted.
As Victor watched Stratton sail on he suspected what he meant to do. The Frenchman saw the riders appear around the trees and gauged where they would all intersect. He also knew what he had to do.
The grim reality of their plight came home with a bang, literally, as a burst of machine-gun fire caught one of the young rebels and he fell dead. The group pressed on. A mortar shell landed close by, followed by another, and shrapnel flew among them. Kebowa was struck in his side by a piece. It caused him to stumble but he regained his balance and pressed on, blood pouring from the wound.
Another burst of machine-gun fire found its mark again, one of the rebels dropping and rolling to a stop.
‘Down!’ David shouted and the group dived to the ground to return fire.
Another mortar shell landed nearby and David knew they had to move on or die. He got back to his feet. ‘Fire and move!’ he shouted to the others. ‘Fire and move!’
He ran several metres, dropped to the ground and fired at the enemy. ‘Move!’ he shouted.
Several of the others scrambled to their feet and ran on a few metres before dropping to the ground to open fire. As the rest of the group caught on they began to repeat the tactic.
The riders arrived at the cliff and raced along its edge. Stratton pulled his gun strap over his head, brought the weapon against his shoulder and fired several shots at them. David and the others also engaged the horsemen.
Steel had been concentrating on the cliff edge when the first rounds struck the group and unhorsed an officer ahead of him. The man hit the ground and tumbled off the edge, screaming.
Steel brought his horse to a sliding stop, as did the others, and he dismounted to hug the dirt. The horses scattered, leaving their riders.
Only then did Steel notice the parachute.
Stratton fired several more shots until he ran out of ammunition. He dropped the rifle to the ground and grabbed the chute’s toggles. The edge of the cliff was coming up fast and he still had not seen Louisa.
Steel lay in the grass holding his pistol, transfixed by the sight of the parachute. A grin spread across his face. ‘Does that guy ever give up? Jesus!’
Stratton found Louisa struggling with one of the rope bundles, pulling the line over the edge. Elation coursed through him once more when he saw her. ‘Louisa!’ he cried. But she was still too far away and too distracted to hear him.
Steel tried to line up Stratton in the sights of his pistol and, despite the ridiculous distance, fired a couple of shots, knowing very well that they would be in vain. He assumed the Englishman was headed for the cliff and safety and followed his track, wondering if he might risk intercepting him. Then he saw Louisa on the edge of the cliff, pulling at a line of rope.
‘There!’ Steel called out to Ventura and the officers around him. ‘Shoot them!’
They followed his order and opened up on Louisa as well as Stratton.
Bullets snapped past Louisa and slammed into the pile of rope. She dropped to the ground and scrambled behind the bundle as more rounds hit it.
Victor saw Louisa and the government officers shooting at her. He was suddenly overcome with such anger that he abandoned any more fire-and-fall defensive moves and charged as he fired, racing ahead of the others and bellowing with rage.
The Indians followed, arrows in their bows. David and the remaining rebels joined the charge.
Kebowa stopped long enough to loose an arrow that struck an officer who was reloading his rifle in the back. But the officer beside him turned swiftly and shot Kebowa through the heart.
A shell landed among the rebels, a piece of shrapnel severing Yoinakuwa’s hand.Victor saw his friend fall and went to his aid as the old Indian lay on his side in agony.
Mohesiwa released a torrent of arrows in revenge, one of them striking Ventura through the top of his shoulder as he lay, prone, penetrating deep into his chest cavity. Yoinakuwa watched Mohesiwa fall after several government bullets found their mark, killing him as he drew back his final arrow.
Victor dropped to the ground to fire some shots and to look around to assess their situation. There was only a handful of them left. His gaze fell on several of the officers’ horses wandering nearby, confused by the explosions and gunfire surrounding them.
Stratton drew closer to Louisa by the second. His loosely drawn-up plan had been to land beside her and take things from there. But now that they were in the middle of a battle he had only one option left.
‘Louisa!’ he shouted.
She looked up at the sound of her name and froze, wide-eyed and stunned. It was him. At the last possible moment he had come for her. And in a way she could not have dreamed of.
A bullet struck close by, snapping Louisa out of her trance, and she dropped to the ground but stayed looking at Stratton. With him there was hope. Always.
Stratton pulled down gently on the chute’s toggles to lose some height and steered directly towards her.
Steel fired a couple of shots from his pistol, more out of frustration than anything else. ‘Christ, can’t any of you guys shoot!’ he shouted, glancing at Ventura to find him staring at him, his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. The orange fletching of an arrow protruded from his shoulder, the long, slender green tail feather of the quetzal bird attached to the nock by a line of gut.
The rebels’ numbers had lessened and they were hugging the ground although they were still shooting. Steel scrambled forward, taking pot shots at them, and broke into a crouching run along the cliff edge towards Louisa.
Stratton was close enough to see the expression on her face. He released a toggle to reach down as low as he could.
Louisa had not thought about his intentions for a moment until then. Too much had been happening. But as she saw his outstretched hand it struck her what he planned to do. She glanced back at the edge of the cliff a few metres behind her, then back at him as he bore down on her. There was no time to worry about the madness of it.
‘Take my hand!’ Stratton shouted.
He was confident that he could hold her. He would grip her like a vice, drag her up to him and hold her tightly in his arms as they sailed over the edge. And he would not let go until they touched down far below.
Louisa focused on the hand, her heart filled with fear. But there was no time to consider the consequences. She would hold on to his hand with all her strength and he would hold her with all of his and never let go. He was Stratton and she would live.
She stood up from behind the rope bundle and reached up to him.