Jackal's Dance (57 page)

It was nothing more than a gut feeling that he'd got it right. Over the years Tully had learned to trust such instincts. Which brought him to his immediate problem. What the hell to do with two platoons of men he didn't need? If he stood them down and went on with a handful and the mission went wrong, his cock would be well and truly on the block. On the other hand, failure was virtually guaranteed with so many wet behind the ears novices blundering around in the bush. Oh, his
force might get the terrorists, but they sure as hell wouldn't be bringing back any live civilians. Irrespective of Windhoek's desire to show how Namibia deals with UNITA, Tully knew that a bungled rescue that resulted in dead hostages would make less sense to the rest of the world than it already did to him.

Mind made up, Tully called a halt.

‘Sergeant.'

‘Sir.'

He rattled off names. Each and every one had seen action in Angola. ‘Have them report to me immediately.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Sixteen selected soldiers, the sergeant and Tully's adjutant listened carefully as he outlined his plan. ‘We'll go on alone. Put Captain Breytenbach in charge here. He's a good man. I'll brief him in a minute. Here's what we do.' Tully mentioned his misgivings about using so many inexperienced men and explained why he expected to find the terrorists still south of the boundary fence. Heads nodded in agreement. ‘The remaining men will spread out and advance slowly. That way we get well ahead without having to worry about advertising our presence and the men will still feel as if they're part of this thing. If anyone is left out I'll be answering silly bloody questions for weeks. Right, tell Breytenbach I want to see him. He'll be pretty pissed off but someone has to mind these kids. Okay Sergeant, hop to it.'

With a grin of approval, the sergeant hopped to
it. Like the major, he'd been worrying about the sheer volume of men. This made sense. Fifteen minutes later, the vastly reduced group set off.

Twelve kilometres north of Tully, the escapees pushed on south. All were certain that, by now, the UNITA force would be in hot pursuit. Knowing that the terrorists could move more quickly, not a minute went by without many a snatched glance at the bush behind. ‘How about we change direction?' Fletch suggested. ‘The way we're heading is too predictable. What about west? They won't expect that.'

‘Forget it. Our tracks are too easily followed.' Dan had a plan forming in his mind. Reach the Oshigambo River and set up an ambush. He put the idea to Philip. ‘We can't outrun them. We're too slow. Our only chance is to outwit the bastards.'

Philip agreed. ‘Back at the river we lose tree cover but so do they. If we get into the riverbed and wait, we'll see them coming. How far is it?'

‘Five or six kilometres.'

‘Think we can make it?'

‘We must,' Dan said grimly. ‘They still have their pistols.'

‘No match for machine guns.'

‘Normally, but we didn't think to take extra ammo. Half of these guns are empty.'

‘Quality, not quantity. Didn't your mother teach you that?'

‘My mother!' A vision of her face crystallised in Dan's mind. Forty years is a long time. Strangely, he
saw her more clearly at that moment than at any time he deliberately tried to recall her face.

Sensing he'd somehow struck a nerve, Philip changed tack. ‘I'll give Walter a hand. He's the slowest of us all.'

‘Good idea.' Dan willed his mother's face away. If she were still alive today her appearance would be very different. Not normally given to whimsy, he entertained the fleeting notion that maybe she was with him in spirit.

Next to Dan, Gayle stumbled.

He slipped an arm around her waist. ‘Come on, my old darling. You can do better than that.'

‘I am not,' Gayle said with some spirit, ‘your old darling. Anyway, my feet hurt.'

Despite the grimness of their predicament, Dan grinned. ‘We'll get you some new ones once we're out of this.'

‘And a new body while you're at it.'

He squeezed her waist. ‘Not much wrong with the one you've got.'

Her arm circled Dan. ‘I'll bet you tell that to all the women.'

The tiny exchange helped Gayle. When Dan picked up the pace, she found strength to do the same.

Walter was in a bad way. Philip had to be tough on him. ‘You're slowing us down. Josie and Caitlin can look after Jutta. They're young and fit.'

‘But she's my daughter –'

‘And in good hands, Walter. She needs help and so do you. The two of you together are too slow.'

Philip nodded to Caitlin, who gently removed Walter's protective arm from Jutta's shoulders. It was debatable as to who had been doing the helping. Jutta showed no outward indication that she had been separated from her father. Philip called quietly to Billy, ‘Can you give a hand with Walter?'

Surprisingly, Billy offered no objection.

Troy held Angela's hand. She hadn't said much since they escaped. ‘You still okay?' he asked.

‘Fine.'

‘We did it, Angie.'

‘Thanks to you.'

‘Dan wants us to go a bit faster. Can you manage that?'

‘Yes.' Her whispered response sounded doubtful.

‘I'll help you.'

‘I know.'

‘That's my girl.' Troy squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back and increased her speed.

Fletch joined Sean to help with Thea. The pace had taken its toll on her diminishing strength. Gamely and without complaint she kept going, but both men could feel her weakening. They didn't know that she'd begun to haemorrhage. It wasn't as heavy as before the miscarriage but enough to soak through her jeans. With Fletch adding his support, somehow Thea kept moving. For how much longer she didn't dare think.

Like it or not, Kalila needed help and Chester was determined to give it. He literally barrelled between her and James, locked an arm around each of them and surged forwards. The machine gun,
slung over one shoulder, bumped annoyingly on his back but he ignored it.

Felicity placed herself the other side of Kalila and took her arm. ‘I'm here if you need me.'

‘Thank you.'

Aside from an obvious desire to make good their escape, Kalila wanted one thing. To have a bath. It was all she could think of. She felt as dirty as those men last night. Her Zulu upbringing was starting to make itself felt. How dare they lay a finger on her, the daughter of a chief? What made them think they had any right? Men like that, in the old days anyway, would have been impaled on a stick and left to die in agony. Death was too good for them. As she walked, Kalila's anger grew. It lent strength and speed to her legs. Something else occurred to her as well. The help of others had been given on a person-to-person basis. No-one gave a damn that she was African.

Dan found himself thinking about Gayle. She was the kind of woman he usually ran a mile to avoid. Too demanding, selfish, overly aware of herself. Yet, despite all that, she had shown a great deal of emotional and physical fortitude. How much of the real Gayle Gaynor was in that spoilt brat she'd presented at the lodge? The dishevelled woman walking next to him, barefooted, traumatised and probably exhausted, but tough enough to keep her sense of humour, impressed him.

Caitlin and Josie got nowhere trying to converse with Jutta. Nothing worked. It was as if the girl's mind had shut down. She wouldn't so much
as nod or shake her head. Jutta stumbled along between them, her expression neutral. The only indication that she could comprehend anything was when Caitlin said to Josie, ‘We must move a little faster.' Jutta picked up her speed without being prompted.

The one suffering the most physical discomfort was James. The brutal invasion of his body had torn the lining of his rectum. Each repetition of the act made matters worse. The damage would need to be surgically repaired. Walking only increased the problem. James was in a great deal of pain. Like Thea, he knew there was no point in mentioning it. There was nothing that could be done. Gritting his teeth, he stumbled on, glad of Chester's strength.

Walter gasped, stumbled and nearly fell, then stopped and bent double, resting beefy hands on his knees. ‘It's no use. I can't go on.'

‘You must.' Philip's eyes met Billy's over the German's head. Walter's laboured breathing indicated how close he was to collapse. If that happened, they were all in serious trouble.

‘More support,' Philip suggested. ‘Tighten your grip.'

Billy nodded. Walter was being virtually dragged along as it was but the two men drew closer, held on firmly and moved off again.

Walter's head lolled from side to side. ‘Water. I need water.'

‘We haven't any,' Billy said sharply as the realisation hit him.

‘My heart –'

‘Shut up, Walter,' Philip gritted. ‘Save your strength.'

Walter fell silent. Billy and Philip took his weight as the German grew weaker.

In their panic to get away from the terrorists, no-one had given a thought to food and water. They'd grabbed the machine guns and fled, the only thing in everyone's mind was to take advantage of their captors' temporary immobilisation. Right now, they all could have done with some water. They'd been on the move for almost three hours. Some of them were faring better than others as they desperately tried to stay ahead of their pursuers. But even the strongest among them could feel exhaustion setting in. The only chance they had was Dan's plan of an ambush.

‘The river. We've got to reach it.' The ranger drove himself on. ‘It's our only chance.'

Tully and his men were superbly fit and making excellent progress. They crossed the Oshigambo River a little after midnight and melted into mopane scrub on the other side. The major felt more confident now that most of the troops were deployed as back-up. His hand-held Magellen GPS told him they should reach the perimeter fence around four in the morning. The timing couldn't be better. If the terrorists still had booze, they'd be sleeping it off by then. Even without alcohol, the last hour before dawn was known to be the time of deepest sleep. If they'd lit another fire its smoke
would stay in the air well after it had gone out, its smell serving as an early warning that they were closing in on their quarry.

‘Ssst!' The soldier next to Tully hissed and froze. Everyone stopped, ears and eyes straining. Ahead, ghostly white in the moonlight, a slinking figure, then another and another. Lion. At least eight. A hunting pride. One of the females looked back, alerted either by the smallest sound or her excellent sense of smell. She spun to face the soldiers who were rooted to the spot a mere twenty metres away.

‘Shit!' Tully whispered, easing the safety catch on his weapon. A warning shot was the last thing he needed.

The lioness took several steps towards them, ears pricked, neck extended, head down – interest evident in every line of her body. She sank into a stalking position, belly almost scraping the dry ground. Although alerted by her pose, the other lions seemed content to stand and watch. If she chose to attack they would assist, but the unfamiliar smell and sight of the men kept them wary.

The lioness inched forward, moving in slow motion, eyes locked with Tully's. She had singled him out.

‘Shit, shit, shit.' Tully raised his SKS. If the big cat charged he'd have no option but to place a shot over her head. The sound would be heard in every bloody direction for anything up to ten kilometres. ‘Watch the others,' he warned. ‘They might try to get behind us.'

An eerie silence descended as men and beasts – neither sure of what would happen next – waited an eternity. The lioness had frozen into a crouch. Several of the pride, sensing she was almost committed to a charge, melted into darkness, taking up position.

‘Form a circle,' Tully said softly.

Moving as cautiously as the big cat, the men obeyed, guns at the ready.

In that formation, they presented a solid target too big for the lioness's liking. With a silent snarl, she regained her full height, turned and loped off. The rest of the hunting pride followed.

‘Whew!' Tully breathed, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘So that's how a zebra feels.'

The lions had not eaten in two days. They were hungry and keen to make a kill. While game was not abundant it was adequate, and as the only resident pride in this part of the park, they rarely had to deal with intruders. That didn't make success a foregone conclusion, nor did it mean they had no competition. Hyena, jackal and leopard also lived here.

About half an hour after encountering Tully and his men, the pride picked up the scent of zebra. It turned out to be a large herd spread over several square kilometres, grazing the seasonally abundant grass between the sparse distribution of shrubs and trees. This was more like it. Each member of the pride instinctively knew their task. Using every bit of ground cover so that nothing but their ears could be seen, they patiently
advanced on the herd, spreading out to flank it, taking their cue from the dominant lioness. When she crept forward, the others moved up as well.

The zebra were nervous.
Kwa-ha, kwa-ha.
Alarm calls rang out, hooves thudded the sandy soil as some skittered and shied. Long grass hid the lions from view. There was no wind to bring the dreaded scent of predators their way and the herd soon settled down again. Slowly, with experienced self-control, the lions closed in. The lioness turned her tawny eyes towards a mature stallion, gave it consideration, then decided on one of his mares which had its back towards her, head down, grazing. The male was only a few metres away, wary but not yet sure.
Kwa-ha, kwa-ha.
It came from further away. The grazing female lifted an inquisitive head, found nothing to disturb her, and lowered it again. The lioness exploded up and forward.

The other lions, sensing which animal she had selected, closed in from all sides. Their target, alerted by the sudden panicked stampede, made a desperate attempt at escape. Hind legs lashing out, she sprinted away, swerving left and right. But it was too late. The lioness changed direction with her, effortlessly gaining on the doomed animal. Running close behind the flying hooves, deftly avoiding bone-breaking backward kicks, one paw flicked out, claws hooked into flesh and the zebra came crashing down. With incredible agility, the lioness bounded over her prey, locking powerful jaws into the animal's jugular and crushing the windpipe. All struggling ceased in less than a minute.