Jungle Kill (9 page)

Suddenly all the lights went out, both inside and outside the hotel. Immediately the four soldiers pulled their night-vision goggles down over their eyes and slipped inside.

The shouts and crashes that came from inside the rooms off the ground-floor hallway showed that the bandits had been caught by surprise by the sudden cut in power, no matter that it must have happened plenty of times before.

Gaz was already moving to the nearest door, his lock-picks in his hand. The door was partly open. Gaz pulled it shut quietly and then slid his lock-pick into the lock, turned it and heard a satisfying
click.

Gaz looked over at Tug, who was standing watching, assault rifle poised, and gave him a thumbs-up. One door locked.

Swiftly Gaz moved on to the next door. This one was already shut but as Gaz got near to it, he saw the handle turn and the door begin to swing open inwards. Quickly Gaz grabbed the handle on his side and pulled it shut again. Then, holding the
door firmly shut with one hand, he slid the lockpick in and started to turn it. For one awful second the lock-pick stopped, jammed, and Gaz felt the door handle kicking against his hand as the person on the other side tried to pull the door open. Determined, Gaz held on with the iron grip of one hand while he tried again to turn the lock-pick with the other, all the time aware that if it didn’t work soon he’d have to use a flash bang, putting the whole mission at risk.

Once again, the lock-pick jammed, and Gaz cursed silently. If he tried to force it, there was a good chance it would break, making it impossible to lock the other doors too.

Someone inside the room shouted angrily and Gaz felt the door being shaken violently. He gritted his teeth, tried to turn the lock-pick one last time, jiggling it slightly backwards and forwards, and this time he heard the cogs of the lock click into place.

Meanwhile Nelson and Mitch had made it down the stairs to the basement. They stood and listened
in the darkness. There were no sounds from any of the rooms around them. Either they were empty, or their occupants fast asleep. In which case there should be no torches shining down here.

They glanced around them at the weird world of black and grey through the night-vision goggles.

Nelson indicated the two doors that opened on to the smallest rooms, according to the information Oba had given them. If their calculations were correct, they were pretty sure Mwanga would be in one of them. If they were wrong, then they had major problems.

Nelson checked the first door. It was unlocked, which suggested it was unlikely to be where Mwanga was held. He moved to the second door. This door had two heavy bolts on it, top and bottom. Cautiously he tested the handle. It wasn’t locked. But it was bolted.

That made sense. If Ngola needed to get Mwanga out of here in a hurry, the last thing he’d want was to find that someone had lost the key to the room.
Nelson slipped both bolts back and pushed the door open, staying clear of the opening. A basic rule of survival. Never stand in an open doorway: all you do is make a perfect silhouetted target for any enemy waiting inside the room.

No gunfire sounded.

Nelson moved swiftly into the room, followed by Mitch, rifles ready.

A man was sitting in one corner, chained by his ankle to a radiator. Even with the grey fuzz of the night vision, they could see that it was Mwanga and that he had been badly beaten. His face was bruised and swollen. There were cuts above his eyes, and dried blood crusted down the sides of his face and around his mouth.

‘Mr Mwanga?’ said Nelson.

There was a muffled groan from the man.

‘Mr Mwanga, we are here to rescue you,’ said Nelson.

Swiftly he pulled out a pair of bolt cutters and severed the chain holding Mwanga to the radiator.

Mwanga struggled to get to his feet, but then fell back to the floor.

‘I’ll carry you,’ said Nelson.

‘No,’ said Mwanga, his voice still thick with pain but sounding firm. ‘I will walk.’

Once more he pushed himself up and stood unsteadily. He lurched forward, swaying, but obviously determined to get out on his own feet. He made it to the door, and then collapsed again, crashing to the floor.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Mwanga, but we don’t have time for this,’ said Nelson.

He grabbed Mwanga and hauled him over one shoulder, then he headed back to the stairs, Mitch covering him all the way.

Just as they got there, the deafening sound of gunfire erupted from above them.

‘Situation?’ barked out Nelson as he and Mitch hurried up the stairs. Tug’s voice came to them through their helmet headphones.

‘They’re shooting at the doors to open them. We’re returning fire.’

More bursts of gunfire echoed through the building.

Nelson arrived at the top of the stairs first, Mwanga draped over his shoulders. Tug and Gaz fired at the now shattered doors to keep the bandits inside at bay, while Nelson ran for the main entrance.

A burst of returning fire came back through the splintered wood, and Gaz fell back, wincing with pain and clutching his left arm.

‘Go with Nelson!’ Mitch snapped. ‘I’ll take your position!’

Gaz was about to protest, but Mitch had already joined Tug and the two of them were firing round after round into the two rooms. Gaz nodded and ran after Nelson, gripping his left arm tightly to staunch the flow of blood.

There were now sounds above them, from the first floor, and Mitch moved to the bottom of the flight of stairs and fired off a couple of bursts, spraying them wide at the upper level. His bullets tore plaster from the walls and ripped through wooden partitions. Yells from above told Mitch he’d struck some targets. The main thing was to hold back any other bandits who were up there, to allow the unit time to get away.

‘Let’s go!’ said Tug.

Tug joined Mitch at the foot of the stairs, and they headed for the main entrance. Both men moved side to side like crabs, Tug walking backwards to cover the rear, while Mitch edged forwards to
cover the entrance.

More gunfire sounded from inside the hotel. No one appeared at first, then suddenly a door near them burst open and several men stumbled out. Through his night-vision goggles, Tug could see the guns in their hands. He pressed the trigger of his rifle, watching the bullets take out the first line of bandits. Finally they were outside and could see Nelson and Gaz in the back of the jeep with Mwanga. Benny was at the wheel, the engine racing.

Two Moons was standing up behind the wheel of the second vehicle, his rifle aimed at the hotel.

‘OK! We’re go!’ snapped Nelson.

Immediately Benny let the clutch out and the jeep raced forward.

Mitch and Tug turned to face the hotel and kept up a stream of gunfire at the building to keep the bandits inside.

‘Go!’ yelled Tug.

Mitch ran towards the battered vehicle. Two Moons had already dropped down behind the
steering wheel. A sudden yell of pain in Mitch’s headphones made him jerk round. Tug was hit!

Some of the bandits were firing from an upstairs window and the ground around Tug seemed to jump as bullets thudded into it.

Mitch saw Tug crumple to the ground and immediately he rushed back, his rifle on automatic, rapid fire aimed at the upstairs window. Behind him he could hear the thunder of Two Moons’ rifle as he stood on the jeep and poured tracer after tracer at the building as covering fire for Mitch.

Mitch reached Tug, who was struggling to sit up.

‘Where are you hit?’ he asked, kneeling down beside him.

‘My left leg,’ winced Tug. ‘It’s broken.’

‘OK,’ said Mitch. ‘Grab my shoulders and grit your teeth. This is going to hurt.’

Mitch let his rifle swing from his shoulder by its strap, then he put both arms under Tug and hauled him up so that he was draped over his shoulder. Mitch stood up, lifting Tug as he did so. Tug groaned with the pain.

Mitch heard the engine of the vehicle coming closer, and realised that Two Moons was reversing towards him, holding the steering wheel with one hand, while still firing his rifle at the building with the other.

The jeep shuddered to a halt beside Mitch. He lowered Tug into the back of the vehicle as gently as he could, and then scrambled aboard himself before swinging his rifle level to fire again at the building.

‘OK,’ Mitch yelled. ‘Let’s take off!’

‘As soon as I’ve let these babies go,’ said Two Moons. ‘Get your head down!’ And he triggered the remote to set off the detonators of the explosives he’d rigged at the building and the other vehicles.

The effect was spectacular. All around them things exploded, pieces of metal hurtling in every
direction. Roaring flames lit up the whole area, and Mitch could hear the yells of panic from the men inside the building.

‘Bullseye!’ yelled Two Moons triumphantly.

He dropped down behind the steering wheel, slammed the jeep into first gear and raced away, heading for the dirt road through the jungle. Mitch kept his attention on the hotel, now blazing, with smoke belching upwards, licking at the timber boards that covered the windows. Suddenly he saw a figure aiming something at the jeep. It looked like an RPG launcher.

Mitch swung his rifle at the figure and fired, but it was already too late. There was the dull thud and smoke of the RPG being fired, and then it hit the ground right next to the jeep’s front offside wheel and exploded.

The jeep lurched violently with the force of the explosion, and then tilted and rolled. Mitch found himself flying through the air, still clinging to his rifle, then Tug’s flying body crashed into him
and the two men were flung to the ground. Mitch smacked his face against a rock, painfully jarring every part of his skull. He heard Tug yell out in pain and he struggled to lift himself up, but his mind was clouded, dazed. He was dimly aware of the sound of running feet getting nearer, and shouts and yells, and then something came down incredibly hard on the side of his head and everything went black.

Slowly Mitch came round. It was still night, though he could see by the light of the moon. His head throbbed. His face ached. It felt like it had been hit with lengths of hard wood.

He was tied to a tree, ropes binding his arms and legs, his wrists tied together.

He looked about him, even though every movement caused a searing pain in his neck. He wondered if he’d broken any bones. He knew that he was definitely hurt. Not just his face and neck –his whole body. His ribs. His arms. His legs.

‘You’re back with us?’

The voice was Two Moons'. Mitch strained his neck round and saw that Two Moons was also tied to a tree. They were the same trees that Adwana
and the two villagers had been tied to. Two Moons had been stripped of his Kevlar body armour down to his combat trousers and boots. Mitch looked down at himself. He too was only wearing combat trousers and his boots.

‘Yes,’ said Mitch. His voice sounded muffled, far away. Maybe it was the after-effects of the RPG explosion. Sometimes temporary deafness followed.

‘I guess you hurt all over,’ said Two Moons.

Mitch started to nod, then stopped because of the pain in his neck. ‘Yup,’ he said.

‘I thought you would. They gave you a pretty good kicking while you were unconscious. I was worried they might have kicked you to death.’

Mitch forced a rueful laugh. ‘I guess they’ve got something extra special in mind for us,’ he said. He looked at Two Moons, concerned. ‘How about you?’

‘Oh, they kicked me pretty good,’ said Two Moons. ‘Though not as bad as they did you. I guess
that’s because I was still awake so I kept moving as much as I could.’

‘Where’s Tug?’ asked Mitch.

Two Moons jerked his head towards an area that Mitch couldn’t see. ‘He’s here,’ he said. ‘They got him tied to a tree too. But they let him sit down on the ground because of his broken leg.’

‘Very thoughtful of them,’ said Mitch drily.

‘Not that thoughtful,’ said Two Moons. ‘They gave him a kicking too, and they beat him with their guns.’

‘How is he?’

‘Not good,’ said Two Moons. ‘He’s unconscious, but alive. I can hear him groaning now and then, which is a good sign.’

Mitch’s mind was clearing now and he was able to take in the situation better. They were tied facing the hotel. Black smoke still poured from the destroyed vehicles where the fuel lines had caught fire.

‘You did a pretty good demolition job,’ commented Mitch.

‘I sure did,’ grinned Two Moons. ‘But I think it pissed off the opposition.’

Mitch took stock of the bandits who were hanging around. All of them looked angry. All of them were armed with rifles.

‘Any sign of Ngola?’ Mitch asked.

‘He was here, watching them tie us up, and then he went off talking into his phone.’

Suddenly they could see movement: a group of bandits was hurrying towards them from the side of the hotel. As the group drew nearer, they parted, and the figure of Justis Ngola burst out from their midst and approached the Delta Unit soldiers. Immediately the rest of Ngola’s bandits also came nearer, following their leader.

If Ngola had been furious before, when questioning Adwana and the two villagers, he was now enraged to the point of madness. His whole body seemed to be shaking as he stood there, his eyes jerking between Two Moons and Mitch. His mouth worked as if he couldn’t get out the
words of hatred that welled up inside him. Finally he seemed to gain control of himself, and he strode up to Mitch, thrust his angry face into the soldier’s and demanded in English: ‘Where have they taken Mwanga?’

Mitch looked coldly back at Ngola. ‘My name is Paul Mitchell. My rank is Trooper. My number is –’ he began.

His words were cut short as Ngola scowled and punched Mitch hard in the mouth. Mitch’s head rocked back and smacked against the tree. Pain scorched through his head and he felt his mouth fill with blood.

‘Where do you think you are, little man?’ sneered Ngola. ‘This is not your war. You are a criminal! A murderer! A thief! Do you know what we do to thieves?’