by Tony Park
‘National parks helo, national parks helo, this is Leopard Niner, anti-poaching call-sign. If you read me, break away, do not, I repeat, do not come to this location. There are armed tangos with a machine gun waiting for you. Abort mission, fly to Lion Sands.’
Sonja waited for a reply. The warden she had been speaking to earlier called and said he had heard her and would try to relay the message. In the meantime the helicopter bore down on them, low and fast, its nose-mounted searchlight tracing a path towards them.
The man with the AK-47 aimed his weapon skywards. The gunner, however, had moved behind a leadwood tree and Sonja could not get a bead on him.
‘They’re going to shoot down the helicopter,’ Sonja said. ‘They used us to draw it in, to set an ambush.’
Tema looked scared for the first time that night. ‘What are we going to do?’
Sonja had turned her back on wars, on fighting and dying, and had agreed to this job on the basis that she was a trainer, not a fighter. All that had changed in a few short minutes.
‘We’re going to kill them.’
‘Shouldn’t we try to warn the helicopter again, wait for the police?’
Sonja raised her LM5 and took aim at the man who was about to help the RPD gunner take on the helicopter. He wasn’t pointing a gun at her or threatening anyone right now, but in about five seconds both gunmen would have a clean line of sight to the helicopter.
She drew a breath, watched the tip of the barrel of her rifle rise, then exhaled half a lungful of air. She squeezed the trigger.
The man with the AK-47 staggered and fell and the machine gunner let off a long burst, prematurely, Sonja hoped.
From the bush on either side of the gunner two other AK-47s started firing on full automatic. Their combined fire and a warning from the reserve’s warden, which Sonja heard squawking through her radio, made the helicopter pilot bank sharply and peel away.
The machine gunner stepped from behind his tree and saw Sonja. He let loose a twenty-round burst and she and Tema split and sprinted for cover.
Tema flattened herself behind a tree and looked, wide-eyed, to Sonja. ‘What do we do?’
The machine gun had stopped firing. ‘We advance.’
Sonja looked around her tree, fired at the gunner who had also ducked back behind cover, then ran forward. She had the satisfaction of hearing Tema laying down covering fire. When Sonja had closed the distance between her and the men she dropped down behind a granite boulder and started firing. ‘Move, Tema!’
The other woman started running. Off to her right Sonja saw a fifth poacher break cover and raise his AK-47.
‘It’s a woman,’ the man yelled.
Sonja took aim at him and fired twice. The man fell before he could get a shot off. ‘Damn straight it’s a woman.’
Sonja searched for targets but couldn’t see any more men. She fired a few shots into the bushes where she’d last seen the machine gunner. Tema came abreast of her. ‘Stop, Tema, get down.’
Tema did as ordered but looked to her, panting. Sonja thought she could almost see disappointment, maybe anger, on the younger woman’s face. ‘Why? We have them on the run, let us finish them.’
‘They’ve got an RPD machine gun. If they find good cover and reload we’ll be tickets. You have to learn when to break contact, when to retreat.’
Tema’s lips were pressed firmly together. ‘I don’t want to retreat. I don’t ever want a man to think he can hurt me again just because I’m a woman.’
Sonja nodded. ‘I don’t think that will happen to you again, Tema.’
Tema scanned the bush, searching for targets, while Sonja checked in on her radio. She listened to conversations between several men.
‘What now?’ Tema asked.
‘The national parks helicopter was hit by ground fire. The pilot reported a fuel leak and turned back to Skukuza. Patience is in luck, though, there’s another chopper coming from one of the lodges and they’re going to take her to the hospital in Nelspruit.’
‘Thank the Lord,’ Tema said.
Sonja listened into her earpiece again. ‘Yes, and thank that British billionaire and bunny hugger Julianne Clyde-Smith who owns Khaya Ngala Safari Lodge. It’s her helicopter. Now, let’s get back to the girls.’
They stood and Tema looked over her shoulder to where the remaining men had disappeared. ‘I don’t want them to get away.’
‘Neither do I,’ Sonja said. ‘It makes me sick. But that’s what happens in war; sometimes you have to retreat.’
Tema was coming down from the adrenaline high of her first combat and Sonja knew what that was like.
Tema sniffed and wiped her eyes, the resentment gone from her voice, which was softer now. ‘This is a war.’
Chapter 2
Julianne Clyde-Smith was waiting at the entrance to Lion Sands Game Reserve when Sonja Kurtz and an African woman in the same camouflage uniform, also carrying a rifle, jogged down the access road.
A male staff member held up a platter to Sonja as she arrived. ‘A hot towel, madam?’
Sonja just stared at the man for a second. He turned to the African woman, who greeted him in xiTsonga and accepted a towel.
‘Sonja, hello, I’ve heard what happened,’ Julianne said.
‘How’s my woman?’ Sonja said to Julianne. No nonsense, just as she’d expected. ‘I just saw your helicopter take off.’
‘She’s serious, but my head of security, James Paterson, is on board, and he’ll make sure she’s well looked after. Both he and my pilot, Doug Pearse, are ex-military. James has replaced her dressings and put in an IV.’
Sonja nodded. ‘And my other operators?’
‘That’s a special forces term, I believe?’
‘Well, they started the night as trainees, but their shit just got real, as the Americans would say.’
‘Quite. Can I stand you a drink? Your ladies . . . er, operators, are also at the bar,’ Julianne said.
Sonja frowned, but seemed to bite back the retort that was forming. ‘With me, Tema. We need to talk about what happened tonight, all of us. Any sign of Goodness?’
‘No, she’s still missing,’ the girl called Tema said.
‘Miss Clyde-Smith,’ Sonja began.
‘Jules to my friends. Please.’
‘Julianne, thank you for the use of your helicopter. We really appreciate it, and I know of the work and the money you’ve put into conservation issues.’
‘If you have a woman missing I can task my helicopter to help in a search as soon as it returns from the hospital.’
‘Thank you,’ Sonja said. ‘She’s a local woman so I’m hoping she will head here or to the reserve gate.’
‘How about that drink?’
Julianne led the way through the white rendered open reception area to the bar on the left. A log fire burned in the fireplace, more for ambience than necessity as it was a mild evening. Sonja’s other three women got to their feet as she entered.
‘Sit,’ Sonja said. ‘What are you drinking, Lungile?’
‘Coke. We assumed we were still on duty.’
Sonja gave a small nod. ‘It’s no time for celebration.’ She turned to Julianne. ‘Will you excuse us, Julianne?’
‘Can I have ten minutes of your time, first?’ Julianne asked. ‘I’d like to speak to you privately.’
‘I really need to talk to my people.’ Sonja turned away from her.
‘Yes, I understand completely, but I have some information about the poaching gang behind tonight’s terrible business.’ Julianne beckoned to a waiter and ordered a large bottle of sparkling water and two glasses.
Sonja looked back. ‘They were way better armed than the average bunch of ragtag poachers from Mozambique, but OK, I’m listening.’
‘I know who’s bankrolling that gang, and I know about th
eir machine gun, the RPD.’
‘How did you know about that?’
Julianne gestured to a couch in the corner of the bar. She led the way and Sonja followed. Sonja set her LM5 assault rifle down on a side table and sat down. The waiter brought their water and poured for them.
‘You look exhausted.’
‘Don’t worry about me. Talk to me,’ Sonja said.
‘You’re very direct,’ Julianne said.
‘You knew my name, just now, when I arrived, but we’ve never met. Did one of my girls tell you?’
‘Google’s a wonderful thing,’ Julianne said. ‘I know you need to get back to your troops so I’ll cut to the chase. I want to offer you a job.’
Sonja looked her in the eye. ‘I’m not in the market.’
‘Then what are you doing here, with these women?’
‘It’s a voluntary position. An old army friend who runs a charity that pairs military veterans with anti-poaching units asked me to work with the Leopards, to mentor them. He thought having a woman with some military experience train them for a few months might be better for them than just another male ex-soldier. Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a personal connection to the property next to this one, where the Leopards are based.’
Julianne had not only googled Sonja, she’d had James, the head of security for her global IT, tourism and online media company, conduct a thorough check into Sonja’s background. ‘Yes, your partner was killed at Lion Plains while filming a documentary on the plight of South Africa’s rhinos.’
Sonja took a sip of water. ‘Good old Google.’
‘You’re experienced enough to realise, I hope, that training a few women from the local townships to shoot and navigate in the bush at night won’t stop rhino poaching.’
Sonja finished her drink and set it down on the carved wooden table.
‘I realise, Julianne, that anything that helps lift women out of the drudgery of being forced to take a job as a domestic servant because of rampant unemployment when they’ve attained a respectable matriculation mark at high school is a good thing. I also realise, through my experience, that a female recruit is as good as any man, and probably better because she’s not burdened by an overdose of testosterone or her own self-importance.’ Sonja stood and turned her back on her.
‘Drink up, girls,’ she called to the women.
Julianne Clyde-Smith wasn’t used to people walking out on her, but Sonja Kurtz was everything she’d thought she would be – tough, outspoken, fearless in combat, and dedicated to the people under her command. ‘How would you like to stop rhino poaching, or reduce it to near zero?’
Sonja looked back at her. ‘You’re right about one thing. Boots on the ground, male or female, here in the Sabi Sand, isn’t enough to stop poaching here. We’re barely holding the line.’
Julianne lowered her voice. ‘How would you like to get the men who trained and commanded the poaching team you encountered tonight, who shot your operator?’
‘They’re probably in Mozambique, across the border from Kruger. They’re out of our jurisdiction, and the fact is the Mozambican government has neither the will nor the expertise to capture the ringleaders, the middlemen, nor the buyers from Asia who come looking for rhino horn and elephant ivory.’
‘Yes, you’re correct on all counts, but would you like to get them?’
Sonja raised an eyebrow. Her face was streaked where her sweat had cut through her camouflage cream. She patted the breast pocket of her uniform as though she was instinctively reaching for a cigarette. Her fingers were caked with dried blood. ‘You want me to train the Mozambican police, work with them? They don’t take kindly to strangers telling them what to do.’
‘No. What I mean is that you could do it yourself, you and a hand-picked team, operating undercover in Mozambique and wherever the poaching kingpins are living with impunity.’
She scoffed. ‘An anti-poaching black ops unit? It’s the stuff of fiction. No one’s got the balls or the money or the political will to go through with it.’
‘I’ve got the money, plenty of it, and the will. Helicopters, drones, weapons, thermal imaging gear, night vision kit. Anything you want. You name it, you get it. You can even hire some balls if you need them.’
‘It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s nothing without hard intelligence and proper targeting. Plus, who’s going to take the risk of being caught in a foreign country illegally, and why? Not for money alone.’
Julianne had anticipated her questions. She didn’t want someone who was motivated by money, nor some radical animal rights campaigner. ‘As for intelligence, I can give you the name of the person who sold the poachers that RPD machine gun you saw tonight, and the name of the man who bought it and financed tonight’s mission. I can give you his address, the make of his car and its licence plate, and the names of his wife and children.’
Sonja looked over her shoulder to the members of her team, her Leopards. She seemed to be weighing it up, and then she called to them, ‘Have another drink, girls.’
Sonja came back to Julianne and resumed her seat. ‘How did you know about the RPD?’
‘My intelligence is better than the South African government’s. I warned them about a machine gun attack on the military or an anti-poaching team, or maybe one of the security forces’ helicopters. They thought I was mad.’
‘How do you know so much more than the people at the Joint Operations Command?’
Julianne smiled. ‘I’ve got more money than them.’
‘I know. I read the newspapers.’
Julianne’s phone was set to silent, but it vibrated in her pocket. She took it out. ‘Excuse me, this is James, my head of security. Hello?’
Julianne listened to James’s report; he was at the hospital in Nelspruit. She realised Sonja must have been able to read the look on her face.
‘Bad news?’
Julianne nodded. ‘I’m so very sorry. Your woman . . .’
‘Patience.’
‘There was nothing my men could do to save her. They did their very best. She died in my helicopter on the way to the hospital.’
Sonja called the waiter over, her face like stone, and said to him, ‘Bring us a bottle of Klipdrift.’
‘Sonja,’ Julianne said.
‘What? I need to be with my team now.’
‘I really am very sorry for your loss. I think you, of all people, someone who has lost so much, knows that we’re in a war here, and I can tell you that it’s escalating. Tonight proved that. I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’re the sort of person to be training people when you could be making a real difference on the front line. Will you please just come to my lodge and at least hear what I have to say? I believe it’s in your best interests. We have to do more, Sonja.’
Sonja stood. ‘I’ll think about it.’
*
Hudson Brand stirred at the sound of a diesel engine.
He had fallen asleep in the comfy green canvas and brown leather designer camping chair in front of the fireplace. The house in the Hippo Rock Private Nature Reserve, on the banks of the Sabie River just outside the Kruger Park, wasn’t his, but he’d come to think of it as home over the past few years. Hippo Rock was popular with South Africans and foreigners alike, a place where people could live side by side with wildlife.
Hudson rubbed his eyes. Headlights shone through the curtain and then the engine was cut. He heard footsteps, and swearing in German. He’d learned the hard way that Sonja lapsed into German when she was angry. He went to the door.
‘Well, good morning.’ He checked his watch. She should have been home from the training patrol by nine pm, but it was after midnight.
‘Don’t get smart with me.’
She was on the defensive already, which for Sonja meant being on the attack.
‘I’ve had a
shit evening,’ she said.
Hudson smelled the booze on her breath. She brushed past him and dumped her webbing gear and LM5 on the floor. ‘I heard gunfire from the Sabi Sand side. I guess that was you.’
She glared at him, rocking a little. ‘Of course it was us.’
He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He told himself not to get angry. ‘Want to talk?’
‘I want a fucking drink.’
She went past him, across the flagstone floor to the dark hardwood drinks cabinet where the home’s owners, Cameron and Kylie, who lived in Australia and kept the Hippo Rock house as a holiday home, stored their booze. Hudson’s arrangement with the couple was that he could use whatever food and alcohol he wanted as long as he replaced it. Sonja took out a bottle of brandy; she was drinking up most of the money he received in tips as a safari guide.
‘Klippies and Coke Zero?’
‘Ja,’ she said. She dropped into an armchair, and opened the bottle.
He went to the kitchen and organised half a glass of ice and cola. She added the brandy to the brim.
‘What happened?’
‘One of my girls was shot and died of wounds on an evac chopper. Another, the dead one’s sister, is missing somewhere in the bush after running from the firefight like a scared rabbit, but I got two poachers. Shit.’ She sagged deeper into the armchair.
He reached out from the chair next to hers and took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m so sorry, Sonja.’
She shrugged off his touch. ‘They had an RPD, for fuck’s sake.’
‘A machine gun for rhino? That’s overkill.’
‘For a helicopter.’
He whistled. ‘That’s what I call escalation.’
She looked at him. ‘This is a war, Hudson. A real, live, shooting war, and we’re losing.’
He shrugged. ‘The parks guys, the police and army do OK. Think of all the rhinos that would have been killed if they did nothing, which is pretty much what’s happened in most of Africa over the last forty years.’
She leaned towards him and once again he could smell the booze on her breath. ‘Yes, but we’re not winning. We have to do more.’