Mercenary Part 22

Bernard turned to Stratton. 'There's something wrong,' he said, looking around tensely. 'Someone from the outpost is usually waiting by that tree to meet the relief, but no one is there.'

Stratton found Bernard's unease alarming. The track traversed a long slope covered in long gra.s.s and patches of dense bush. They were exposed to the high ground, not the ideal place to hang around. 'We shouldn't stay here,' Stratton suggested.

Bernard understood and moved ahead. As he approached the front of the patrol the lead men were moving forward to the tree. Bernard signalled the others to move on.

One by one, each man walked past the tree, stepping between a group of large rocks and disappearing out of sight.

When Stratton reached the same spot he saw the others up ahead, standing around as if transfixed by something. As he approached he could hear the intense buzzing of thousands of flies. Lying on the ground in a small clearing were the six members of the rebel outpost, all dead, shot through their heads and torsos. One had had his throat slit.

One of the relief patrol moved away to throw his guts up. The rest stared unmoving at their fallen comrades with looks of horror and disgust.

Stratton found the situation curious insofar as the outpost crew had been shot out in the open rather than behind cover as one might expect in a firefight. He picked up one of the dead men's rifles and removed the magazine. It was full. He checked the man's magazine pouch which was also untouched. A similar inspection of another dead rebel's weapon and ammo pouch revealed the same. 'They didn't return fire,' he said.

He grew very uneasy with the location and looked to the high ground.

'What should we do?' Bernard asked.

'You need to keep this outpost open,' Stratton said. 'There's a reason someone wanted it wiped out. Set up the radio, inform your people and get reinforcements down here. Tell them to bring half a dozen claymores. This is what they were designed for.'

The radio operator removed his pack to set up communications, the patrol commander putting the headset over his ears.

'You?' Stratton said, getting the attention of one of the young men still transfixed by the dead. 'Cover the route we came in on. You? Cover in that direction. You and you. I want you to clear the high ground,' he said, indicating the area above the outpost. 'That whole area all the way to the top.'

The men obeyed.

Stratton went to the lookout position and studied the panorama. The knoll provided a dramatic view of the junction of three valleys, the main approaches to that side of the plateau. He scanned in all directions with his binoculars, hoping to see what the outpost had not been meant to report on. It didn't take him long to find something.

In the far distance, at the head of one of the valleys, what looked like a long line of soldiers and loaded burros was snaking its way in his direction. 'Bernard?'

The young man came to his side.

'When you get that radio working, tell them a large force of foot soldiers is heading this way. Three to four hundred, rough estimate. I also advise they check on the other outposts.'

The two men who'd been ordered to sweep the high ground mounted the rocks on the edge of the position to carry out their task. A couple of short bursts of high-velocity gunfire from the slope spat several rounds through both men, killing them before they hit the ground.

Other shots raked the position. One of the men covering the routes either side of the outpost was killed instantly, the other was seriously injured. Stratton, Bernard, the patrol commander and the radio operator dropped behind cover.

Stratton brought his weapon into his shoulder, waiting for a target. All he could think was that the outpost should never have been manned without a gun team on the high ground. Their only hope now was to defend themselves against an a.s.sault - there was no way that they could mount a counter-attack. They could not attempt a move with that gun covering their position.

A soft moan came from nearby and Stratton peered through the foliage to see Bernard clutching at himself, obviously in pain.

'Where're you hit?' Stratton whispered.

Bernard tried to turn enough to see him. 'I'm okay,' he said, his voice quivering.

Stratton suspected otherwise.

'Drop your weapons or you will all die like your comrades!' a voice called out from the bushes. 'We have your position surrounded.'

Stratton remembered the men hanging by their necks in the jungle on the day he'd arrived. These attackers would be all too likely to mete out the same kind of retribution to anyone they captured.

'I have been ordered to take prisoners. Those others, they went for their guns. If you give yourselves up you will be allowed to live. If you fight, you will die.'

It was the kind of threat that the defenders wanted to hear but still could not really believe.

A man in civilian clothes rose from behind cover, his rifle aimed carefully at the rebel patrol's position. He was followed by another and then more, all of them in civilian clothes.

'I'm coming out,' shouted someone not far from Stratton. It was one of the rebels. 'I've dropped my gun. Don't shoot.' The radio operator did not waste any time as he got to his feet and stepped into the open, his arms raised in the customary surrender gesture.

The patrol commander followed him. They clearly realised the futility of resistance and were willing to take their chances by surrendering.

'What about you, Bernard?' Stratton asked.

'I . . . I can't fight,' he stammered.

Stratton exhaled heavily, his nerves on edge. A twinge of fear gripped him which he fought to hold at bay. It was one of those key moments of decision. He could go for it, come out blasting, take his chances on maybe creating a hole in the enemy's line and hope to get away. If he did, his escape routes were limited, to say the least. There was a steep drop from the view point behind him. He could jump and hope that he didn't break every bone in his body. Even then they could still pick him off. The other option was to stand up, surrender and take his chances. There were too many guns aimed at him for him to try and escape, he decided.

Stratton put down his weapon and got to his feet.

Bernard stood up painfully, holding his shoulder, blood seeping from a hole in the front and the exit point in his back.

The leader of the ambushers pushed his way forward and into the clearing. He was wearing a hat and carrying an AK47. He also had a pistol in a holster attached to his belt. He grinned at Stratton. His face was covered in a scruffy beard. 'h.e.l.lo, Englishman,' he said stepping closer as his men closed in.

There were a dozen of them, all dishevelled and grubby.

The leader nodded to his men and several of them descended on the rebels to search their pockets and remove their webbing. One of them handed Stratton's belt to the leader who looked through the pouches with interest, inspecting the GPS. 'Tie their hands,' he barked.

His order was carried out swiftly.The other wounded rebel was dragged over and dropped to the ground alongside the others.

'I must now execute you all for crimes against the government of Neravista,' the bearded leader said casually. 'I'm sorry about the prisoner bit. I was lying. It's the law, as you know, that all terrorists are to be killed as soon as they are captured. I don't have time to find a suitable gallows so you will have to be shot.' The leader whispered something in the ear of his subordinate before stepping back. 'Carry on,' he said.

'Ready,' the subordinate called out. His men raised their rifles where they stood. 'Aim!' he shouted. The radio man began to cry and urine coursed down his legs. Bernard clenched his jaw and stared at his killers.

'Fire!'

Every rifle went off at once. Stratton flinched. The others dropped to the ground. Bernard and the radio operator died instantly, bullet holes in their heads and torsos. The patrol commander writhed in agony, a hole in his neck spouting blood several feet into the air, his arms motionless because his spine had been severed. One of the ambushers stepped closer, aimed his rifle, and shot the commander through his head. Then he adjusted his aim and put a round through the head of the wounded man who had been dumped on the ground, even though he looked to be already dead.

Stratton remained standing. He had winced when the shots were fired but otherwise had not moved.

The ambushers' leader chuckled. 'You don't like my sense of humour?' he asked. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you but all the patrols in this area were told not to kill the Englishman if they should come across you.' He shrugged. 'Maybe someone else wants that pleasure.'

He shouted a command and the group quickly made ready to go.

Stratton took a moment to come back to earth. For several seconds he had really believed his time had come, right up to and including an instant after the shots had been fired. He had felt the bullets striking Bernard who had been so close that he was almost touching him and he'd been splashed by the younger man's blood. But at that moment Stratton's brain could not grasp why he himself had felt no pain. The leader's laugh had come to him like a distant echo.

One of the men slammed him cruelly in the back with a rifle b.u.t.t to get him going. He felt drained, as if his blood had left him. No amount of previous experience of the sight, sound and smell of death fully prepared one for it.

Stratton was placed in the middle of the group of ambushers. As he trudged along, his hands tied behind him, he could only wonder what fate had in store for him.

They walked along a track that led down into the valley and followed it until it entered another, larger valley, where they met the line of government soldiers in camouflaged clothing whom Stratton had previously spotted heading towards the rebel plateau. Each man carried a rifle and bulging backpack and looked equipped for a substantial campaign.They were accompanied by burros carrying ammunition boxes and machine guns.

Stratton's group veered onto a different track and continued for several kilometres before arriving at a large, flat area next to a precipitous rockface. A number of dark brown canvas tents and a large white marquee had been set up to form what was evidently a headquarters. It included a flagpole with the army's colours flapping at its top.

Stratton was made to halt in the open while the others headed for what looked like a field kitchen with a collection of tables outside. One of the men remained with him as a guard while the leader made his way to one of the brown tents.

The area beyond the HQ buzzed with activity. Dozens of horses were tethered in lines, their saddles and other accessories on racks beneath wood and canvas shelters. Burros carrying supplies trailed in from another direction. Soldiers grouped in companies, cleaning their weapons, chatting, smoking and generally hanging around. A whistle blew, accompanied by shouts, and one of the companies began to form up into a column.

A familiar noise began to drift above the general cacophony, the deep beating sound of rotors cutting through the air. It grew louder rapidly. The helicopters, unseen as yet, were closer than they sounded. Then the lead bird rounded the rockface, heading for the camp, a large artillery piece suspended beneath it on a long cable. A second was close behind. The noisy machines slowed as they approached the landing area, the rotors changing tone as their pitch altered. Some of the horses obviously resented the unfamiliar intrusion and a couple of the burros kicked out in fear.

The choppers came into the hover, kicking up a storm of dust, and men ran to the artillery pieces to disconnect them. Stratton noted the twin M60 machine guns mounted inside the doors. They were obviously combat-ready.

'They ain't new but they'll do the trick,' a voice shouted from behind him.

Stratton recognised Steel's drawl immediately but did not turn to acknowledge his presence.

The American stepped alongside him as the artillery pieces were disconnected, hitting the ground with rocking thumps. The lead chopper's turbines increased power and it ascended vertically before turning on its axis, lowering its nose and powering away. The second moved close to the HQ tents and eased itself to the ground. When it was completely down, several officers hurried to the cabin door as it opened. Two burly soldiers climbed out. Behind them another man in military garb eased himself from the cabin and onto the ground. The officers came to stiff attention and gave crisp salutes. More men clambered out behind him.

The entourage headed towards one of the large tents, past Stratton and Steel. 'In case you don't know, that is Neravista himself,' the American said.

Neravista was in his late fifties and fastidiously groomed from head to toe. He had a large, ugly face, with a bulbous nose and ears to match. His dark eyes flicked in Steel's direction and he gave a perceptible nod on seeing the American. Steel returned it.As Neravista pa.s.sed he glanced at Stratton just long enough to notice the Englishman's tied hands. Stratton watched him until he entered the HQ tent.

'He is as charming as he looks,' Steel said. 'I wouldn't be surprised if his lifelong heroes were Hitler and Stalin. I'm sorry to see you like this,' Steel said.

'You don't show emotion easily.'

Steel chuckled as he bit into an apple. 'You made a mistake.'

'Yes. I never realised how much of an a.r.s.ehole you were.'

Steel continued to smile. 'I meant after that. You got involved. You should know better, a man of your experience.'

'You're not working for the administration, are you?'

Steel looked round conspiratorially, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear. 'Keep your voice low, d.a.m.n it. They don't know that.' He was clearly relis.h.i.+ng his own sense of humour. 'Well, truth is I am a little and I'm not a little. I was officially sent to monitor the situation and then was given some lat.i.tude when it came to offering a.s.sistance to the revolutionaries. But this country has a lotta valuable resources. Here, look at this,' he said, digging something out of a pocket. He held up a dull chunk of ore the size of a golf ball. 'Platinum,' he said. 'I could carry a fancy car's worth out of here in my pockets. A lot of private companies are interested in investing in this place,' Steel continued. 'h.e.l.l, some of 'em are downright chomping at the bit to get in here. But you can't bring in civilian contractors where there's a war going on. It's dangerous and expensive. So, yeah, I'm acting as point for a few of those companies, representing their interests.' Steel grinned. 'The sooner this place can get itself cleaned up, the sooner the investors'll start doing what they do best.'

'When did you switch from Sebastian to Neravista?'

'You mean did I know I was sending you in to help the losing side? Yeah, I did. But I wasn't clear how I was going to manage it. Switching sides was never gonna be easy since the Congressional funding was voted in to aid the revolutionaries, not Neravista. The trick was in reducing confidence in Sebastian and making him look more like a terrorist.That's the magic word these days. Changes everyone's perspective. We're just putting the final touches to that right now. Look, Neravista was the tougher guy in the end. The revolutionaries couldn't go the distance.They started squabbling. I had to take advantage of the situation as it presented itself. As long as Neravista can tone down the human rights abuses we should be fine. He may find that a lot easier now that his brother's dead,' Steel laughed. 'Good job, by the way. Nice hit.'

'Did you put the grenade in the weapons box?'

'Neravista's negotiator got a little p.i.s.sed when he discovered how much ordnance you'd brought in. s.h.i.+t, he went a little crazy. So I had to take some back. Sorry for any inconvenience caused.'

Stratton looked at him, doing his best to hide the venomous hatred he felt for the man. 'Why am I here?'

'I need you to kill Sebastian.'

Stratton just stared at him.

'Of course I know you won't do it. That'll be our little secret. But it'll get done and you'll get the blame. You did it for the money, you greedy little mercenary, you.'

Stratton realised the implications. 'What about Louisa?'

'Sweet kid, that one. If she makes it, fine. I hope she does. I like that gal. She's got oomph, you know? Great a.s.s, too. I'm surprised you weren't all over that one. A little out of your league, maybe. Then again, I think she'd go for a guy like you.' Steel studied Stratton's expression for a moment, looking for any clue that he might have struck a nerve.

He could not find any and gave the ambushers' leader a nod. The man guarding Stratton came over to grip his arms, unaware of the pressure building in his prisoner. He gave Stratton a shove but the Englishman suddenly braced himself like a rock and would not move. The man was surprised and mustered his strength for greater effort. As he pushed again, Stratton bent away and then swung back, striking him in the face with his forehead with such force that the man's nose burst and he fell, poleaxed and almost unconscious. The bearded leader lunged forward but Stratton flattened his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es with a knee to the groin. The strength went out of the man as he grabbed his crotch and dropped to the ground where he began to cry with the pain.

Stratton turned on Steel who whipped his pistol from its holster and levelled it at his face.

'You don't need to be alive for this next phase,' Steel said. 'It's just more convenient if you are. Which is it gonna be - dead or alive?'

Stratton did not doubt that Steel would shoot so he stopped in his tracks, glaring at the man. The other ambushers came running over, grabbed Stratton roughly and hauled him away.

'You keep a good eye on that boy,' Steel called out as he lowered his pistol. 'Tie 'im up good.' He grinned as he put his gun away and looked down at the two men on the ground, one of them sobbing in agony, the other still trying to figure out where he was. 'I told you,' Steel said, chuckling as he walked away. 'You gotta watch that boy.'

Chapter 8.

Stratton sat with his back against a tall, st.u.r.dy wooden pole fixed solidly into the earth, his hands bound securely behind it by a leather strap. His face and body were battered and bruised where the ambushers' leader had taken revenge once he'd eventually managed to stand up again. Dried blood was caked around the Englishman's face and on his chest, where it had dripped from his cuts. He had not moved for hours and had stirred only at the sound of Neravista's helicopter departing.

His captors had made a temporary camp on the edge of the broad clearing, their ponchos doing service as overhead covers above their bedding a stone's throw from Stratton. Nearby a company of soldiers lounged around, brewing coffee on small wood fires.

Stratton had been stripped of all his clothes and footwear except for his shorts. He was parched, having been denied water since his capture. But at least the sun had been hidden behind thick clouds all day and the temperature was lower than it could have been.

He had drifted into semi-consciousness during his beating and soon after coming round he gave up plotting any escape for which he would have to depend on his own resources. His bonds were secure and the pole was too high to loop the strap over. A brief effort to push against the pole proved he would never be able to break it or pull it out of the ground. His only chance would come if his captors gave him a window of opportunity. But the beating he had given the patrol commander and his subordinate had made them wary of him and they were keeping a close watch on him.

Stratton estimated the time at around four in the afternoon although it was difficult to judge without being able to see the sun. He could only hope that the clouds would burst soon so that he could ease his thirst with their rain.

He realised several soldiers were looking at him and it became obvious that he was the subject of their conversation. One of them walked over to talk with the ambushers' leader. Several of the others followed him. It attracted the attention of the rest of the ambushers and before long there was quite a gathering.

The bearded leader seemed to arrive at some kind of agreement with the soldier and together they walked over to Stratton, followed by the others. The leader and the first soldier stopped in front of the captive while the others surrounded him.

'Stand up,' the leader demanded.

The uniformed soldier stared intensely at Stratton, a grimace on his rugged face.

Stratton brought his feet under him and shuffled his arms up the pole as he straightened his legs. The ambushers' leader decided to lend a hand and grabbed him by the hair to help him up. The soldier stepped closer to square up to him, his face full of hatred.

'I'm told you are the one who blew up Chemora,' the soldier said.