‘Reculez!’ Get back! She snarled again, and the crowd shuffled back a pace.
‘Easy,’ Luca whispered. ‘All we need is their attention. I need you to translate for me. Tell them that I can show them a way out of here. That I can teach them how to climb the rope.’
Bear tried to steady herself against his shoulder, dropping the pistol to her side. She then shouted out to the crowd as best as she could. They were deathly silent as they listened to what she said. Everyone had seen how pointless it was trying to climb with bare hands. Finally, here was a solution.
‘Take off your boots,’ Luca said to Bear, crouching down on the ground.
‘What?’
‘I need your laces. Come on … quickly.’
Luca stepped up to the centre of the crowd with his hands raised so that everyone could see. He then took the first of his bootlaces and tied the two ends together in a tight knot. After doing the same for the other, he moved over to the main abseiling rope and attached the two lines, looping them back in on themselves three times each.
‘It’s called a prussic,’ Luca explained over his shoulder. ‘We use it in crevasse rescue all the time. The knot slides up the rope, but jams if you put weight on it.’
Making one of the loops longer than the other, he placed the toe of his boot inside.
‘You use one of the prussics for your foot and the other attaches to your harness. That way, you can use your legs to step up and climb the rope.’
‘But none of these men have harnesses,’ Bear objected.
‘Yeah, but they can just tie it on to a belt or another line around their waist. That’s all it takes. And tell them that when they reach the top, they’ve got to sit tight and wait for a rescue. It’s a war zone out there, but they’ll be safe as long as they stay on the summit.’
As Luca finished, there was an excited murmur amongst the crowd, with those who had laces already reaching for them. Others had already left to go in search of rope. Quickly looping the spare harness around Bear’s legs, Luca walked her up to the line and attached the prussics.
‘You got the strength for this?’ he asked, brushing away a strand of hair from her eyes.
‘I’ll make it. Anything to get out of here.’
Luca helped her fit her right boot into the loop. At first, Bear’s movements were laborious and slow, the prussic knots jamming each time she pushed down on her foot. But soon, she was making real progress, with her hands and feet moving in unison. By the time Luca had got ready, she was already thirty metres above their heads, and gaining.
Luca followed, his movements fluid and well practised, and in what seemed like just a few seconds, he was already at the same height. A cheer went up from the crowd as they watched them move up the rope together and soon disappear into the shadows of the mine.
Far below, the miners had already begun to follow.
Chapter 35
THERE WAS MOVEMENT between the trees. Silhouettes glided from one trunk to the next, no more than blurred outlines in the darkness. The LRA was amassing just beyond the edge of the volcano, and for nearly half an hour Jean-Luc had been watching their numbers steadily increase. He could see only glimpses, but knew that there were hundreds of them out there, silently waiting in the shadows.
The gunner, Louis, shifted his position slightly, pressing the wooden butt of the machine gun tight into his shoulder and taking in the slack on the trigger. Sweat ran freely down his face. Five metres further on from him, the pilot, Thierry, had stacked six magazines of 5.56mm ammunition on the rocks to one side of his M4 carbine. He was staring down the night sight of his rifle, switching from one movement to the next amongst the trees.
‘I want short, controlled bursts,’ Jean-Luc whispered. ‘Don’t use your grenades too early.’
He knew both men were veterans and wouldn’t fire wildly into the night, but he also knew how his men locked on to the sound of his voice before an attack. It gave them something to focus on, grounding them against the rising panic and helping them keep control.
Jean-Luc looked back towards the helicopter. It was tucked far enough into the side of the volcano to be out of the LRA’s direct line of fire, but if they broke out the W-89 mortars, they wouldn’t stand a chance of escape. Their only hope was that Mordecai had taken all the main field weaponry with him on the march to Kinshasa.
From somewhere deep in the forest, they heard the low beat of drums. It was slow at first, methodical and unhurried, but soon the tempo built. Others joined, the beats becoming one, blurring into a frenzied crescendo of noise and motion. Then came the smoke. From the edge of the trees, smoke grenades were tossed out into the no-man’s-land between them and the LRA, and soon thick acrid clouds drifted up into the air. It formed an impenetrable wall, masking the beginnings of the counter-attack and closing the distance between them.
‘Steady,’ Jean-Luc whispered. ‘Put each man down. One by one.’
He stared at the nearest of the grenades as it lay on the rock thirty feet below him. Smoke belched out in a continuous flow, flooding the entire area in a surreal, blood-red glow. A shrill scream went up as suddenly a wave of LRA soldiers charged. They sprinted through the smoke in a rough line with their heads thrown back and their mouths open wide. They clambered over the first of the rocks with their AK-47s blazing. Most were firing on full automatic with the bullets ricocheting wildly off the rocks far above Jean-Luc’s head, while others were simply running, their faces contorted by their screams.
As one, Jean-Luc and his men opened up. They fired in bursts of two rounds, taking down one man, then the next, in quick succession. It was relentless, each man shifting his elbows on the hard rock as he brought his line of fire on to the next soldier. The whole battle became a series of movements, with one soldier reaching up to his neck as a bullet passed straight through his throat while another doubled over as a bullet tore through his insides, the exit wound pulling out a great chunk of flesh by his liver. Everywhere, the macabre silhouette of wounded human figures danced and twisted, backlit by the blood-red smoke.
The carnage continued, with the steady double-tap shots of the mercenaries rising above the wild burst of the LRA guns. As the last few soldiers clambered forward, Louis fired a long, raking burst with the GPMG, swinging the barrel right across the entire field. The bullets cut through every living thing, dropping those still standing and severing the limbs of those already lying on the ground.
A confusion of bodies was left, with few killed outright. Most had their hands clasped over their injuries, screaming in pain.
‘Reload,’ Jean-Luc shouted, ejecting the magazine on his G3 rifle and smoothly clipping in another. He stared down at the wounded lying on the ground and saw they were barely more than teenagers. The LRA commanders were obviously throwing their most inexperienced troops at them first, saving the hardened fighters until last.
The drum started again and another scream went up as the next wave of LRA attacked. They ran with the same blood-curdling shouts, the same desperate abandon. There was no fear or hesitation, no pause or respite. It was as if each of them had somehow missed the slaughter of their comrades, just seconds before.
The three mercenaries worked swiftly, shifting between targets and squeezing off round after round. The barrels of their rifles smoked in an unbroken stream, while around them hundreds of bullet casings lay spread out on the rocks, the metal still warm to the touch. To the right, a group of four LRA soldiers had made it nearly two- thirds of the way up the slope. They were ducking and weaving between what little natural cover there was. And they were making ground. Thierry levelled the sights of his rifle on to them and fired, but the sweat was dripping into his eyes, making it hard for him to see. He managed to take down only one man. Three of them still remained, getting closer by the second.
Jean-Luc swung round so that he was half resting on his back and fired the 40mm grenade launcher tucked under the barrel of his rifle. It went off with a deep, rolling boom, blowing the men apart
in a fine shower of blood.
Just as they were reloading, another wave burst through the smoke. These LRA soldiers were more experienced and attacked in proper military style, with one man advancing as another crouched down, giving covering fire. They jumped over their fallen comrades, gaining ground and coming within range of their grenades.
Explosions went off in clusters all around them. Those that remained were close now, only a few metres further down the slope, almost upon them. Jean-Luc quickly raised himself up, dragging the barrel of his rifle from right to left on full automatic and mowing the men down at waist-height. To his right, he could hear the sound of Thierry’s M4 firing, but just beside him Louis had gone silent.
As the last of the LRA soldiers finally fell to the ground, Jean-Luc turned towards his men. Louis’s head was resting flat against the rock with his gun tilted into the air. Jean-Luc could see that a lump of shrapnel had staved in the top part of the gunner’s head.
‘Désolé, mon ami,’ Sorry, my friend, Jean-Luc whispered, as he turned back towards the forest. Above the wash of red smoke, he could see one of his Oryx helicopters circling. It had been firing in constant bursts, cutting the main body of the LRA army in half and preventing those deeper in the forest from reaching Jean-Luc and his men. As the Oryx banked round for another pass, a rocket was fired from the ground. This time it found its mark and the tailfin of the Oryx disintegrated in a blast of fire and metal.
They watched as the helicopter lurched to one side and the cabin began to swing round on its own axis. Without the stabilising rear rotor, it whipped in a circle, faster and faster, while the machine fell from the sky. As a distant cheer rose up, Jean-Luc watched it crash into the tops of the trees before finally disappearing from view.
‘Laurent,’ he shouted into his radio as the sound of drums began again. ‘Fifty feet below our position. Use the twenty-millimetre.’
The Rooivalk swooped down for one last pass. The cannon under its belly swivelled, spitting out the last of its rounds in a long burst of gunfire that ripped through the forest. Bits of bark splintered off and the ground became alive in the maelstrom, destroying the next wave of the LRA attack before it had even begun. The helicopter roared overhead, then pulled back into a hover on the far edge of the battlefield, just beyond the range of the RPGs.
‘You can’t do anything else,’ Jean-Luc shouted into his radio. ‘Now get the hell out of here.’
‘Sorry, Major,’ came Laurent’s voice. ‘It’s over five hours before I can reload and get back.’
Jean-Luc pressed the earpiece hard against his head, trying to make out what Laurent was saying above the noise of the drums.
‘Say again,’ he shouted.
‘Rotation. Five hours for reload.’
‘Copy that. Now get clear.’
As he gave the order, Thierry turned to look at him with doubt in his eyes. Their own helicopter was sitting twenty feet behind them with its rotors still turning. It was their only chance of escape. They had to take it.
‘Major,’ he shouted. ‘Five hours? Even with the last of the 7.62mm rounds, we’re only got enough for one more attack, two at most.’
‘Man your post. We wait until Luca and Beatrice get back.’
Thierry’s jaw clenched.
‘Don’t you get it, Major? That was an impossible climb! There is no way he would have been able to get into the mine.’
‘We maintain this perimeter,’ Jean-Luc snarled, reaching out his fist and grabbing the front of Thierry’s webbing. ‘That’s it.’
‘But this is suicide,’ Thierry whispered, his voice rising in desperation.
Jean-Luc’s fist clenched harder. ‘You man up! We’re not leaving this position.’
Thierry stared rigidly down the sights of his rifle. They had already lost one helicopter, but still the Major couldn’t see what had been obvious to them all. No one could have made that climb at night. They were waiting for dead men.
In the distance, they saw two more rockets rise up. The first missed the last Oryx, while the second detonated twenty or so feet to its port side, rocking the entire aircraft. Slowly, it listed over and started to lose altitude, the engines whining under duress, until it fell down into the trees and exploded in a mushrooming ball of smoke and red flame.
‘What do we do now?’ Thierry screamed. ‘What the hell do we do? There’s one chopper left against an entire fucking army!’
Laying down his rifle on the rocks, he stared at Jean-Luc, eyes shining with impotent fury. ‘Major! We have to leave now! I’m getting on that chopper.’
Jean-Luc didn’t turn towards him, but when he spoke his voice came out in a low hiss.
‘Pick up that weapon or I will kill you myself.’
Thierry didn’t move and slowly Jean-Luc’s finger slid up to the trigger guard of his rifle. He was ready to turn round in an instant if Thierry decided to do something stupid and put a bullet in his back. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thierry slowly pick up the weapon. He chambered the first round, just as the next wave of attacks begun.
Jean-Luc emptied the last of his ammunition in quick controlled bursts, then switched to the 40mm grenades, loading each one into the chamber individually and firing them off. To his right, he could hear Thierry firing on automatic, screaming as he shot at anything that moved.
This was their last stand, and both of them knew it.
As Jean-Luc reached out to grab the last of his grenades, he suddenly caught sight of movement past the Oryx. A small team of LRA had scaled a near-vertical section of the slope and was now trying to outflank them. Pulling back from the edge, he skirted around the tailfin of the helicopter and fired his last remaining grenade. It detonated a few feet in front of the group in a blaze of fire and white smoke, leaving a trail of bodies strewn across the rocks.
Just as he was turning back, he saw one of the bodies slowly clamber to its feet. The man swayed slightly as he fought to regain his balance. Even from the distance, Jean-Luc could see that he was vast, with massive brawny shoulders sloping down into a wide back. He had obviously lost his weapon in the explosion and Jean-Luc waited for him to retreat, but instead he started a slow, lumbering jog towards him.
‘What the hell?’ Jean-Luc whispered, eyes narrowing in disbelief. He stared for a few seconds more, bewildered by the sheer insanity of the attack. The man was now clearly visible, approaching fast. He was half-naked from the waist up, with bulging muscles knotted across his abdomen and arms. A solid mass of V-shaped cutting scars ran down from the crown of his massive head, giving his features a cruel, inhuman look.
It was the Captain of the LRA patrol When he was within ten paces, Jean-Luc swiftly reached for his pistol but his fingers encountered the empty leather of the holster. He had given the pistol to Luca! Just as the Captain bore down on him, Jean-Luc yanked out his throwing knife and spun it hard at the man’s throat. The blade dug deep into the Captain’s breastplate, but did nothing to stop him.
The man roared with pain, reaching out to grab Jean-Luc. As his fingers widened in anticipation, Jean-Luc ducked swiftly out from under him, smashing his fist directly into the Captain’s jaw with an audible crack.
Jean-Luc stepped away, retreating in a wide circle and shaking his hand,. The Captain slowly turned round to face him. The punch had split the skin over his chin and lip, splattering blood across his mouth, but the man seemed not to have noticed. He smiled, revealing the blackened points of filed teeth. He threw his head back, roaring in defiance as he reached up and ripped the throwing knife out of his own chest.
Jean-Luc had his fists raised like a prize fighter as they came together again and landed a clean one-two on the Captain’s face and chest before ducking out from under his reach. He danced round, feigning a left jab, before swooping in low and twisting up with a massive right hook. It slammed into the side of the Captain’s face, jarring his whole head to one side.
Backing away again, Jean-Luc watched as the monster before him sim
ply stretched out his jaw and gave a slow shake of his head. That hook was one of the hardest punches Jean-Luc had ever thrown, yet it hadn’t stopped his opponent for a second. As the Captain loomed closer, Jean-Luc could see the line of saliva oozing out from between his teeth. His eyes looked glazed from drugs which coursed through his veins, blocking out any sensation of pain or emotion.
Jean-Luc connected with another jab, but as he tried to roll out again, found his whole body being swung off balance as the Captain pulled him closer. He had managed to grab hold of Jean-Luc’s front webbing and, with a swing of his gigantic head, butted him on the corner of his eye and lashed out with the knife. Jean-Luc went reeling backwards as the blade flashed past his throat, missing him by an inch.
Collapsing on his knees, Jean-Luc ran his fingers over the deep indentation in his face where his cheekbone had been caved in. The Captain came in for the kill, with the knife raised high above his head. As he drew level, Jean-Luc suddenly pivoted round, sending the heel of his right boot crashing into the man’s kneecap. It snapped, backwards, instantly dropping him him on to the ground.
The Captain bellowed a scream of pure rage as he swung his huge torso round in the dirt. Jean-Luc pulled himself backwards over the ground, trying to get clear, but as he finally stood up, his vision swam from the blow to his head and he fell to the ground again.
The Captain flung himself forward so that his body landed on top of Jean-Luc’s. He gripped the knife in his right hand, driving it into Jean-Luc’s belly with all his strength. As the blade went in deeper, Jean-Luc’s body spasmed and he let out a low gurgling sound. The Captain pulled himself closer, so that his face was right in front of him.
‘Oui,’ he breathed. ‘Sentez-le.’ Feel it.
Jean-Luc stared back into those black, gleeful eyes, filled with absolute evil. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. It felt as if they were draining the life from him with each second that passed. Then a single gunshot rang out and the Captain’s head suddenly slumped down on to Jean-Luc’s chest. For a moment he lay there, unable to move, while warm blood soaked into his neck and shoulders.
The Secret Chamber Page 29