The Peacemakers (34 page)

A hail of gunfire split the air and kicked up the dirt around them. Four slugs slammed into the front of the pickup truck, puncturing the radiator. Williams fell to the ground and rolled under the pickup. Vermullen ran to one of the dead soldiers and jerked his AK-47 free. He thumbed the selector to semi-automatic, leaned across the pickup’s hood, and fired three rounds. The gunfire stopped.

“Where’s it coming from?” Williams asked.

“From the bridge,” Vermullen answered. “Get the equipment bag.” Vermullen moved forward in short bursts, taking advantage of what cover there was, with Williams right behind. They drew up short of the darkened bridge and hid behind a low earthen dike. Vermullen chanced a look and raised his head. He quickly pulled back. “Four soldiers are retreating across the bridge. There’s a roadblock on the other side. Give me your FAMAS.” Williams handed him his assault rifle. The colonel knelt in a shooting position and laid the FAMAS across the top of the dike to steady his aim. “The ‘Bulge’ is much more accurate than the AK.” He squeezed off three carefully aimed rounds and waited.

“They’re still moving,” Williams said.

“The angle is bad and I can’t see them,” Vermullen said. “I’m aiming at the roadblock.” He fired another three rounds. This time the men at the roadblock reacted to the incoming rounds and sprayed the dark running images on the bridge with gunfire, killing them. “Much better,” Vermullen allowed.

“What now?” Williams asked.

The Colonel shook his head in frustration. He had to explain everything to the American. “Most of the SA are on this side of the bridge, which is where we want to keep them. Unfortunately, the SA also control the bridge from the other side, so we do what we came for. We blow the bridge.”

The four heavily loaded trucks rattled to a stop behind the two waiting C-130s. The original plan had called for them to simply drive on board with their loads. But Captain Bouchard had radioed for them to return. Allston’s eyes narrowed as he ran the numbers. How much time did they have left? He checked his watch and made the decision. “Off load,” he ordered. “The trucks go back.” The legionnaires tore into the packed trucks, pushing and dropping the crates out the tailgate as the trucks inched forward. The trucks were offloaded and headed back in less than three minutes. “MacRay,” Allston called. “Load Bard’s Herk first.” The loadmaster directed the legionnaires to carry the crates littering the ground onto Green’s C-130. They ran up the ramp as the two loadmasters spread the load down the center of the cargo deck, keeping the aircraft’s center of gravity within fore and aft limits.

Allston climbed back onto the flight deck of his C-130. “Any word from Vermullen?” he asked. His copilot shook his head then pointed to the east. The darkness on the far horizon was yielding to the new day.

Williams lifted the flap of the canvas bag and shook his head. “I’ve never seen one of these before.” It was an explosive charge with a remote control detonator.

Vermullen pointed to the detonator fuse box. “It is very simple. Turn this dial to the arm position, lift this guard and throw the switch. Then press this button. Once you have pressed the button, do not touch it. It has an anti-tamper device and too much movement will detonate it.”

“What’s too much movement?” Williams asked. Vermullen answered with a shrug. “Okay,” Williams said, picking up the two explosive packs by their shoulder straps. “So where do I place them?”

Vermullen scanned the bridge with his NVGs. “We need to drop the center span. Fix a charge to the pier on each end.”

“Colonel, those piers are in the water. You ever hear of crocodiles?”

“It’s the dry season. I doubt if the water is knee deep.”

Williams was even less convinced. “It’s pretty open out there. What happens if they see me and start shooting?”

“I’ll convince them it’s a bad idea. Go.”

“Should’ve listened to my momma,” Williams grumbled. He took a deep breath and rolled over the dike where they were hiding and scampered for the bridge. He reached the concrete embankment and caught his breath, not believing his luck. Then he was moving again, into the riverbed.

Vermullen shifted his position thirty yards up stream to a better vantage point. Thanks to his NVGs, he could make out Williams as he made his way under the bridge. He swept the area in front of Williams. “Bastards,” he muttered. Two soldiers on the opposite side of the river were making their way towards Williams. For a moment, he lost them. They are good, he thought. He fitted a silencer to the muzzle of his FAMAS and adjusted its night scope before lifting his NVGs. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the scope. “
Merde
,” he whispered. Williams had waded out to the first pier and was strapping a charge to it. He methodically set the detonator, totally unaware of the two men stalking him from the far bank. Vermullen aimed and squeezed off a single round. Thanks to the silencer, the muzzle blast sounded like a loud sneeze. The man closest to Williams keeled over and screamed as Vermullen fired again. Williams looked up at the sound in time to see the second soldier go down. He turned towards Vermullen and gave him a thumbs up.

Williams swam to the next pier and quickly attached the second charge just above the water line. He activated the detonator and swam back. Just as he waded ashore, gunfire from the far bank drove him to the ground. Vermullen returned fire. Now the gunfire concentrated on him as he hunkered down. The clatter of a 12.7mm heavy machine gun opened up, zeroing in on his position, and blowing huge gaps in the dike. Vermullen crawled for safety, dragging the equipment bag. The gunner kept hammering at the dike, methodically forcing Vermullen away. Out of ideas, and lacking any place to go, Vermullen pulled the remote detonator off his belt, lifted the guard cover, and pressed the detonate button.