Those in Peril

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘Not really. She said you were arrogant and bumptious and she was going to fire you come the first opportunity. But don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.’

  ‘Cayla Bannock, my protector.’

  ‘You may call me Cay. All my friends call me that.’ He grinned as she tightened her grip around his neck. He had always thought that when the time came it would be a son.

  The hell with it, a daughter will do me just fine, he decided. They ran on for another forty minutes before he stopped and looked back. He thought he had heard something. Now he was sure. It was faint but unmistakable.

  ‘What is it, Heck?’ Cayla was trembling again, and her voice was panicky. ‘I think I can hear dogs barking.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. Lots of stray dogs out here.’ Then he called to Tariq, ‘You hear it?’

  ‘I hear it. They have the dogs and at least one truck. They will catch us before we reach the ravine.’

  ‘No they won’t,’ Hector retorted. ‘Now we are really going to start running.’

  ‘What are you two talking about? I don’t understand.’ They were speaking Arabic, and Cayla was becoming more agitated. ‘I am afraid, Heck.’

  ‘Nothing to be afraid of. You take care of me and I will look after you. Is it a deal?’ He fixed his attention on the north star which was showing just above the horizon, and he ran. He ran with every breath in his lungs and the beat of his own heart sounding in his ears like a war drum. When his legs began to wobble under him he dropped his pack and his rifle and ran on. His legs steadied and he found reserves of strength that he had never known about. He ran another mile, and then another. Now, at last he was sure he was finished, he couldn’t take another step. But his legs kept pumping under him. Tariq and Daliyah ran beside him. Daliyah was carrying the rifle that Hector had dropped and Tariq had his pack.

  ‘Let me take the girl from you,’ Tariq pleaded with him. Hector shook his head. Tariq was a wiry little man, but he did not have the bull muscle for this load. Hector knew if he stopped running for even a second he would not be able to start again. He covered another mile and now he knew it was over, well and truly over.

  ‘This is where I die,’ he thought, ‘and I don’t even have a rifle. Life is a bastard.’ He stopped and lowered Cayla to the ground. He was reeling on his feet. The sound of the dogs was closer, louder. He still had his pistol on his belt.

  ‘I cannot let them take Cayla. I cannot let her fall into their clutches again. At the very end I will share the pistol with her, a bullet for each of us.’ It was the hardest and saddest decision of his life. It numbed his mind so when he heard men shouting his name he could not understand what they were saying. All he could hear were the dogs. In the desert noise carries a long way, he reassured himself, they are not as close as they sound.

  ‘We have reached the ravine, Hector.’ Tariq was shouting at him, and at last the words penetrated his exhaustion and his sadness. ‘Come on, Hector. You have made it. The lip of the ravine is only twenty metres ahead. Come on, my friend!’ Hector was past logical thought. His brain told him that he was finished and he could not go on. But he picked Cayla up in his arms and he ran. He only stopped when the earth disappeared from under his feet and he fell, sliding and rolling down the first steep pitch of the ravine. He was laughing and Cayla sat up beside him. She was powdered with dust and her elbow and one cheek were grazed. She stared at him in astonishment, and then she started to giggle.

  ‘You should see a doctor, Heck. You’re crazy, man. I mean, you’re bouncing off the walls crazy. But on you craziness looks good.’ Still laughing, Hector used the wall of the ravine to drag himself upright.

  ‘Tariq!’ he yelled. ‘We cannot let the dogs catch us here. We have to get to the north side of this canyon where Hans can reach us for the pick-up. Get your lads together.’ Then he turned to Cayla. ‘Come on, Cay. Not far to go now.’

  ‘You make me feel that anything is possible. I am on my own two feet from here on.’ She set off down the slope. She stumbled and almost fell, but then steadied herself and kept going. Hector caught up with her and with a hand on her shoulder steered her, slipping and sliding, down the slope.

  ‘You’ll do!’ he said to encourage her. ‘You’ve got good genes, Cay Bannock.’ Tariq came slithering down the slope behind them, staying on his feet like a downhill racer. His men followed him. When he reached Hector’s side he handed him his rifle and pack.

  ‘You dropped these, Hector.’

  ‘Careless of me.’ Hector slung them on his back, and led them down into the gut of the ravine. They reached the bottom and faced the northern wall. Cayla was panting so that she could not talk but he could not allow her to rest. He grabbed her hand and dragged her up the far side of the ravine. It was steep and heavy going but at last they staggered over the rim onto level ground. He stared back at the far side of the ravine. First light was breaking from the east. There was no glimpse of the enemy, but he could hear the clamour of the dog pack very clearly.

  ‘Tariq, we have to find a place to make a stand until the helicopter comes.’ He looked ahead with a soldier’s eye, and picked the spot. ‘Do you see that rocky outcrop, there on the left? That looks like a good spot. Come along, Cay.’ They ran into the rocks. Hector’s instinct had been right. This was a place where they would have a small advantage. There was good killing ground back to the lip of the ravine which the dogs and Uthmann would have to cross to come at them, but it was scattered with large boulders. He knew the dogs were trained to hunt men. They would work in a pack. But they would be broken up as they wove through the obstacles, and they would not be able to rush the men in a single concerted charge. Hector ordered Cayla to crawl in under the shelter of the largest rock and to sit with her back against the stone wall. He set down his pack beside her, and handed her the pistol.

  ‘Can you shoot?’ Cayla nodded. Stupid question, Cross, he smiled to himself. She is Henry and Hazel Bannock’s daughter. Of course she can shoot. ‘There is a bullet up the spout. No safety catch. I don’t ask much of you. Just kill those bloody animals if they come at you.’ He went to take his position beside Tariq. They both looked up at the sky. Full dawn was on its way.

  ‘I have left a man on the lip of the ravine.’ Tariq pointed ahead. The man squatted behind a boulder on the skyline. ‘He will warn us when the dogs come into sight.’

  ‘Good. Sunrise in ten minutes or so,’ said Hector. ‘Hans should arrive about the same time. We have only to hold them off until the helicopter gets to us.’ They waited and the light strengthened. Then the lookout shouted in Arabic,

  ‘Dogs coming. Many dogs.’ He left his position and bolted back towards them.

  ‘Did you see any men following?’ Hector shouted.

  ‘No, just the dogs. Many, many dogs.’ The man took his place with them. The hunting chorus of the dog pack changed its intensity, becoming a ferocious baying.

  Uthmann was at the wheel of the big Mercedes truck. Adam was on the bench seat beside him, and Sheikh Khan sat on the raised hunting seat behind them. He had one of his bodyguards on each side of him to steady him and prevent him from being thrown about violently as the truck bounded and crashed through the darkness over the broken ground. Four other armed men were crowded into the open truck bed in the rear. Uthmann was driving fast. They had long ago lost sight of the pack of hounds, but he followed their hunting chorus.

  ‘They are heading for the northern wadi. How did they know about that?’ Adam yelled above the roaring truck engine. ‘Did you tell them, Uthmann?’

  ‘No, but one of Cross’s men knows this district well. He has family here,’ Uthmann replied.

  ‘If they reach it we will not be able to follow them through. We will have to go around. That is a detour of over fifty miles. They will get clear away,’ the old Sheikh lamented. ‘You cannot allow that to happen, my grandson.’

  ‘They have a helicopter flying in to pick them up,’ Uthmann told him.

  ‘Are you sure of th
at?’

  ‘I was sitting in on their planning sessions, indeed I am sure, Great Sheikh.’ Now the dogs were so far ahead that before they could be certain they were still on the right track Uthmann had to stop the truck and switch off the engine and listen for them. Then he restarted the engine, and they tore on into the darkness.

  ‘How will the helicopter find them?’ Adam insisted.

  ‘They will call it in on their satellite phone, and lay down flares to mark their exact position.’ Suddenly Uthmann hit the brakes and the truck skidded to a halt. Adam’s head cracked against the folded-down windscreen and the men standing in the truck bed were hurled overboard.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Adam shouted angrily, holding the tail of his headscarf to the wound in his forehead to stem the bleeding. ‘You nearly killed us all.’ In answer Uthmann pointed ahead.

  ‘We have reached the southern wall of the wadi. Another few metres and we would have crashed over the edge and all been killed.’ Uthmann jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran to the lip of the precipitous drop. He stood for a minute listening, then ran back to the truck. ‘The dogs are still on the scent. I can hear them clearly now. We have to leave the truck here and follow them on foot.’ He ran to the men who had been thrown from the truck and kicked their sprawling bodies. One of them was probably dead, his head lolling on its broken neck. Two of the others were out of the game, one with a shattered right elbow and the other with both his legs fractured. The fourth man clambered uncertainly to his feet, but he was dazed and concussed.

  ‘None of these pigs is of any use to me,’ Uthmann snarled. He pointed at the men sitting on either side of the Sheikh. ‘You two, get down and follow me!’

  ‘No!’ Adam shouted back at him. ‘They are my grandfather’s bodyguards. They stay with him at all times. We cannot leave him here unprotected. There are thirty men from the fortress following us on foot. We can wait for them to arrive before we go on in force.’

  ‘By the time they arrive Cross and the girl will be in the helicopter and out of our reach. If you do not now have the stomach to come with me, then wait here as long as you wish.’

  ‘My grandson is immaculate in courage and honour. He will go with you, and show you the way,’ Sheikh Khan intervened. Adam scrambled down to the ground, still clutching the bloodied cloth to his forehead.

  ‘Are you ready for a fight?’ Uthmann asked him.

  ‘More ready than you will ever be,’ Adam snarled at him and grabbed his rifle from the rack behind the seat.

  ‘You must thank Allah that he gave you a head of stone.’ Uthmann laughed at him as he ran to the back of the truck. From the pile of weapons and equipment that had been thrown into confusion by the emergency braking, he selected an RPG of Russian construction and a canvas pouch containing two bombs for the weapon. He slung these on his back and came around the front of the truck. He looked up at Sheikh Khan in the high seat.

  ‘Where will we meet, Lord Khan?’ he asked the old man.

  ‘I will take the truck along the rim of the wadi until we find the road that crosses it. Once we have crossed we will turn back this way again and look for you on the far side.’ The Sheikh pointed out across the dark expanse of land to the north. ‘By that time the sun will be up, and we will be able to search for your tracks or hear the sound of the dogs.’

  ‘When we meet again I shall lay the head of the infidel that killed my father and my uncles at your feet,’ Adam told him. ‘Now I pray your blessing, Grandfather.’

  ‘You have my blessing, Adam. Go with Allah, and keep this jihad fierce in your heart.’

  Adam had to run to catch up with Uthmann before he disappeared down into the ravine. They went down the almost sheer incline, slipping and sliding on shale and loose rocks. Adam steadily lost ground to Uthmann.

  ‘Wait for me.’ He panted. His shirt was already soaked with sweat.

  ‘Hurry! The helicopter will already be on its way to pick them up,’ Uthmann shouted back at him without stopping. ‘The infidel will escape the rightful wrath of Allah and your grandfather.’ Adam’s legs were turning to butter under him. He slipped and sprawled on his belly. He hauled himself to his feet and stood gasping and coughing in the dust he had raised. Then he started down again, but now he was reeling and staggering. Uthmann reached the bottom and paused for the first time to look back.

  Soft piglet! Good only at raping women and slaughtering captives, Uthmann thought but did not let his contempt show.

  ‘You are doing well. Not much further,’ he called, but Adam lost his footing again. This time he fell forward and struck the rocky ground heavily. He rolled the last twenty feet to the bottom of the gorge. He tried to regain his feet, but his right ankle was injured and could not support him. He dropped back on his knees.

  ‘Help me!’ he cried. Uthmann turned back and hoisted him to his feet. Adam hobbled a few paces and then stopped.

  ‘My ankle! I cannot put my weight on it.’

  ‘You must have sprained it. There is nothing I can do to help you,’ Uthmann told him. ‘Come on after me at your best speed.’ He left Adam and started up the far wall of the wadi.

  ‘You cannot leave me here!’ Adam shouted after him, but Uthmann did not look back.

  ‘Listen to the dogs. They have our scent, hot and sweet,’ Hector called out. ‘Lock and load!’

  The breech bolts of the rifles clattered. Six rifles, each with thirty rounds in the magazine. They could lay down an almost solid wall of fire. They had a clear one hundred yards of forward vision. His men were all skilled marksmen. None of the dogs was going to reach them. But if they did they would take the bayonets to them.

  ‘Fix bayonets!’ Hector ordered, and the men reached forward and unfolded the bayonets from under the rifle muzzles. ‘Tariq! Light the signal flares for the helicopter now!’ The flares would burn for twenty minutes, and by that time Hans would certainly arrive and be guided to their position. Each of the men carried a flare in his pack. Tariq shouted the order and they ignited the flares and threw them out. Hector realized too late that he should have made it clear to them that they must throw the flares back, not dead ahead of their position. The dawn breeze was into their faces and it rolled the dense smoke cloud back over them, almost completely blotting out their vision. Before Hector could send a man to move the flares, the dogs came out of the smoke. They were only fifty feet ahead of the line of men when they became visible. They rushed straight in at full run. Too many for Hector to count. Dark wolfish shapes through the smoke, clamouring for blood. They had run hard and froth streamed from their open jaws and splattered over their flanks.

  ‘Shoot!’ Hector bellowed. ‘Shoot!’ He got off only three shots, killing an animal with each bullet. The men on each side of him were firing as fast as he was. Dogs were screaming and going down, but others charged in through the swirling smoke. At Hector’s side Tariq was knocked over backwards by the weight of a huge black hound smashing into his chest. Hector spun around and before it could lock its fangs into Tariq’s throat he thrust his bayonet full length into the animal’s neck. It howled and flopped over with its hind legs kicking. But at that moment another dog crashed into Hector from behind, catching him off balance and sending him sprawling to the ground. The hound was on top of him. The rifle was of no use in this close-quarter mêlée. Hector dropped it and caught the dog by the throat with his left hand; with his right he reached down for the trench knife on his webbing belt. Before he could bring the knife up two more hounds were on top of him. Snarling and snapping they fought to sink their fangs into him. One got a grip on the shoulder of his flak jacket and, bracing its front legs, it held him pinned down on his back. The third dog clamped his knife arm at the elbow and worried it with powerful shakes of its head. The first animal was still on top of him, its gaping jaws inches from his eyes, frothing saliva blown by its stinking breath into his face. It was twisting and heaving in his grip so violently that he could not hold it off much longer.

  A pist
ol shot went off only a foot from his right ear and the muzzle blast half-deafened him. The dog on top of him loosed its grip and collapsed on top of him with blood squirting from the wound in its head. Two more shots cracked in quick succession and the other dogs that were attacking him fell away. Hector sat up and wiped the animal’s blood out of his eyes with his sleeve and spat it from his mouth. As his vision cleared he stared in astonishment at Cayla. She had crawled out of her safe retreat under the rock and now knelt beside him, holding the pistol in a professional double-handed grip with her right arm fully extended, weaving it from side to side as she sought the next target.

  ‘You beauty!’ he panted. ‘You bloody little beauty. You are your mother’s daughter, all right!’ He snatched up his rifle and sprang to his feet, but the dog fight was almost over. The field was littered with canine corpses and the men were finishing off the few wounded animals that were still milling about in pain and terror. Then he looked up at the horizon and saw less than a mile away the big Russian MIL-26 helicopter skimming over the ridge towards them.

  ‘Here comes Hans.’ He burst out laughing. ‘It’s all over. Steak and a bottle of Richebourg for dinner in Sidi el Razig tonight.’ He pulled Cayla to her feet and placed a paternal arm around her shoulders. They watched the big machine racing towards them. Every so often it was hidden by the clouds of smoke from the flares, but each time the breeze blew the smoke aside the helicopter was closer and the sound of its engines was louder. At last it hovered in front of them only fifty feet from the ground and they could see Hans behind the canopy peering down at them. He grinned and saluted them then rotated the helicopter until it was broadside to them. The main hatch in the fuselage was open and two figures stood in the opening. One was the flight engineer but Hector gaped at the other.

  ‘Crazy mad woman!’ he whispered. He had ordered her to return to Sidi el Razig after the trip to Jig Jig, but he should have known all along that Hazel Bannock was not very good at taking orders. Giving them, yes, but not taking them.