Sam was firing forwards and bodies were piled in front of him. His tracer didn’t even have time to ignite as it hammered into others, less than a hundred away. His gun pointed down the knoll and he was almost lying across the front of the trench to get the line of fire.
I dropped Sunday into the trench next to me.
Sam sprayed another burst into the frenzied incomers. ‘We’re losing it, Nick!’
I grabbed the sat phone. ‘Lex, you still got your fuel on board?’
‘Always, man.’
‘We got them a hundred away and closing. Listen in.’ I told him what I needed.
‘Roger that, man. Orbiting right. Coming in from the west.’
‘I don’t give a shit about that, mate – just get here.’
They scrambled up the slippery knoll. Some still fired weapons as they climbed, others brandished gollocks.
I killed men and kids in wellington boots and trainers, jeans and shorts. All of them screamed, so high and so loud they seemed oblivious to our guns. We dropped them like targets in a video game, and as soon as they fell, others immediately took their places.
12
The An12 came in fast and low.
The ramp was down, and a succession of blue fifty-gallon drums of aviation fuel tumbled down it and out of its arse. I caught a glimpse of the loadie as he yanked frantically on webbing straps to release even more.
I didn’t wait for them all to fall, just fired into whatever was already in the mud. The one-infour would do the rest.
Some of the drums had taken bodies with them into the mud. High-octane fuel spurted from the holes I’d drilled and three of them ignited, one after the other. As soon as there was enough heat, the fuel gases would expand and rupture the casing, and we’d get all the explosions we needed.
Crucial was up with a launcher. He had a better idea. ‘Cover! Cover!’
I ducked into the trench as he kicked off a round into the valley.
Death came quickly to anyone within forty metres as the RPG detonation ignited the fuel and the shockwave vaporized it into an instant fireball.
The heat washed over us as another round kicked off.
The screams from burning bodies below us were drowned as the second round set off a chain reaction.
We jumped back up to man the guns, but this time there was nothing to fire at.
Human torches blundered into each other as flames engulfed the front half of the valley. The rest was filled with survivors running for their lives.
Lex was high in the brilliant blue sky, sunlight flashing off his wings. I brought the phone to my ear. ‘We’re not taking fire.’
‘After that I should fucking hope not, man.’
He couldn’t resist a little victory waggle as the aircraft banked and roared back up the valley.
Not even the cicadas disturbed the shocked silence around us. The devastation was almost too much to take in. Bodies were scattered around our fire trenches by the dozen, but down there, among the flames and smoke, they were strewn like trees after a hurricane.
I turned to Sam as the choking cloud enveloped our position.
Crucial was still in his trench, holding his hand to his mouth. ‘I lost a diamond!’ Blood dribbled over his fingers. ‘I lost one of my diamonds!’
Budget-size heads popped up over the parapets of the two trenches. RPG propellant still burned in the mud behind them and the smell of cordite drenched the air.
Silky emerged from her trench and I did a plunger mime and a thumbs-up.
‘Come on, let’s go.’ Sam was in the backblast channel, growling like the pale-faced, skirt-wearing oatmeal savage he was. ‘Game’s over. Switch on.’
A bony hand reached up and closed round my thumb.
I looked down to see Sunday on his arse in the bottom of the fire trench. ‘Mr Nick. Mr Nick . . .’ There was just a hint of a smile. I gave him a bigger one back.
PART TWELVE
1
Thursday, 15 June Rwanda
10:46 hours
Sam and Crucial stood to either side of me outside the old breezeblock and wriggly-tin church. Eight little heads sat huddled in the shade at our feet, just as they had at Nuka and the mine. But what a difference a few days can make.
They were getting good-quality mealie-meal down their necks, scooping it up gleefully with their fingers from clean plastic plates, not out of rusty old tin cans. And they couldn’t get over the women fussing around and pouring them clear fresh water from the plastic bottles they normally used for the porters.
Sunday’s head tilted as he took a few more gulps. Our eyes met, and I got a fleeting, covered-face smile from him. I gave him one back and winked.
Lex was on his finals. The An12 shimmered in the heat haze as its wheels dropped, and the wings moved left and right as he lined up.
We’d only been here a couple of hours, and us three hadn’t yet done a thing for ourselves. As always, it was weapons and kit first. We didn’t have to worry about weapons. The AKs were back in Sam’s tent; we weren’t going to need them for a while. The only kit that needed looking after was the little fuckers at our feet. And now that they had mashed-up corn all round their mouths and bloated bellies we could get ourselves sorted out.
It had taken us two days to get back. We’d rigged up slings from strips of blankets and fixed them to each end of a cot. Two men on, one man navigating, we’d carried Tim and the boy the whole thirty-five Ks back, like removals men with a piano. Silky had strapped up her ankle with strips of blanket and got on with herding the kids behind us. They, too, had strips of blanket. She got each of them to hold on to the one in front, like a herd of baby elephants gripping each other’s tails.
Lex’s 23mms and Crucial’s RPGs had done their worst. When we crested the lip of the valley, we found the dead ground littered with bodies.
Lex soon exhausted his fuel reserves at the strip as he kept constant vigil overhead, giving us early warning and helping us navigate. He never deserted us, and only flew to Kenya to refuel and restock with more drums once we were safely over the border.
Nuka, the mine, the LRA now felt a whole world away.
I couldn’t believe the sense of satisfaction I felt as I looked down on the tops of the eight heads. It sounded like a pig trough down there, but it was one of the happiest noises I’d ever heard. The little fuckers might now have something resembling a life to look forward to. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so good. I didn’t want to risk Sam seeing the look on my face, though. I’d never hear the last of it.
I glanced as casually as possible towards the two of them. ‘What now for you guys?’
Sam took a long breath. ‘If Standish is alive, he’ll be back. Then it’ll be time for us to move on.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll set up somewhere else, maybe a little further east, away from the border. But the work won’t end, Nick. We’ll not give up. We’ll do anything to stop these kids being used by Standish and his kind.’ He nodded down at the munching crew at our feet. ‘Someone’s got to.’
Crucial fixed me with a stare. ‘And what about you, Nick? You staying, man? You can’t deny it – these little guys have got to you, haven’t they?’
A huge plume of red dust kicked up at the rear of the strip as Lex started to bounce his way down the runway, and saved me having to answer.
We turned and started to head from the church to the cam net. As we crossed the strip, one of the kids called, ‘Mr Nick! Mr Nick!’
I turned to see Sunday beaming all over his mealie-meal face. ‘Mr Nick! Mr Nick!’
‘That’s right, mate, Mr Nick. See you around!’