Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  He pointed to the rear. “Try to find some ammunition for the carbine. Maybe there’s something for the H&K as well.”

  She disappeared into the back and returned a few minutes later, smiling. “Guess what I also found besides the ammunition?” she said as she took her seat.

  He shook his head but knew by the look on her face it had to be a good surprise.

  “There’s a small crate with rifle grenades, made exactly for the carbine we have.” She indicated the carbine next to her on the floor.

  “They’ll come in handy if we can get close.”

  They were slowly closing on the Beaver. He climbed until he matched their altitude, mulling over how to attack the aircraft if he got near enough to it. He knew that Cherry would have had some helicopter training and must be able to fly those types in general use in the British Forces.

  “Flown a helicopter before?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  Well, that was certainly matter-of-fact, he thought.

  “Good, then you pilot while I try to shoot ’em down.”

  She did not respond but continue to stare straight ahead.

  The floatplane was now in sight. The pilot seemed to have not noticed the approaching helicopter directly behind it since it was keeping its course steady. However, to get in a shot, Peace would have to bring the helicopter partially alongside so he could properly train his weapon on it. He knew they could not do this without being detected.

  He got out of his seat. “Here, take the controls.”

  She took over his seat and adjusted it.

  “Okay, come up along their right side. Let’s see what damage I can do,” he said, picking up her carbine.

  It did not take long for her to master the controls and soon she was in complete command of the helicopter. Truly, she was a woman with many talents. They were no more than two or three hundred yards behind the Beaver when she adjusted course slightly, holding the helicopter in a new position to avoid the vortex created by the Beaver’s passage.

  Peace had no idea what the rifle grenade’s range was but thought the closer the better. If he recalled correctly, fifty to sixty yards had to be about the maximum range.

  They finally figured out how to use the inter-crew communications gear on board the helicopter after finding the intercom earphones and mouthpieces, which they donned. They could now talk to each other, though they still had to shout.

  “Starting to pass on their right,” she said. The slipstream that found its way through the open cargo door was vigorously buffeting him.

  Slowly, but with their speed increasing, they started to overtake the Beaver. He’d hoped they would not be spotted, but when the aircraft suddenly banked and veered left, he knew they’d been detected. The helicopter swung in unison as Cherry seemed to anticipate the plane’s pilot’s reaction. The superior speed of the helicopter played in their favour and soon they were moving alongside again. Again, the Beaver tried to bank away, but the helicopter’s speed enabled Cherry to hold her position and even improve on it.

  “God, we’re running out of fuel. One of the fuel tank warning lights has started blinking!” Cherry shouted.

  Peace was surprised she’d not noticed their dire fuel situation before.

  “Just disregard it for another minute. The light means we’ve no more than about ten minutes of fuel left, so keep following the Beaver down.” He hoped he sounded confident.

  Meanwhile, the helicopter, with its superior speed, had caught up and was now near enough to let him use the carbine. He braced himself against the side of the loading hatch and with the rifle hard against his shoulder and hoping he was jammed rock steady, aimed at the aircraft trying to anticipate the amount of lead he would require to compensate for their speed. He imagined the distance needed, pulled the aim forward of the plane and fired. The recoil slammed into his shoulder and threw him back and he staggered, trying to keep his balance. The force of the shot had flung the barrel upwards, but still, his gaze never left the Beaver. He saw the grenade cover the distance to the plane and pass through the vertical tail plane, breaking off the top part and wrenching the vertical rudder section from its hinges. This started to bang and flap in the slipstream for a second before it was torn off. The grenade, which had passed right through, exploded thirty yards beyond the aircraft, the impact alone doing the damage. The grenade only detonated milliseconds later.

  “Did you see that? The damn grenade only exploded once it was beyond the plane. It must have been a dud,” Peace screamed into his mike but then realised he’d not considered the delayed fuse the grenade incorporated, which was to allow the grenade to penetrate any armour before detonating.

  “I did, but look, she’s in trouble.”

  He looked. She was right; the aircraft was in trouble. Without its vertical tail plane, it was skidding from left to right and back again. The pilot had obviously realised the problem as the plane was rapidly losing altitude. He must have been hoping to land before it plummeted to earth in a death spiral.

  “What about the fuel?” Cherry shouted.

  He had forgotten their fuel problem in the heat of the moment.

  “Get us down, do it now!” he replied, now fearful that the engines would cut out. He didn’t want Cherry to have to carry out an auto-rotation emergency if the helicopter had to descend without power. This type of emergency landing was achieved by letting the downward passage of the helicopter accelerate the freewheeling spin of the rotor. Once its spin was sufficiently fast, the aircraft’s descent could be controlled by activating the collective pitch to induce a three or four second hover, and put the chopper on the ground without breaking it. The theory was great, but he was not sure whether Cherry or he could do that expertly enough with such a large helicopter — this was no trainee helicopter.

  He saw a large river below, the surface on its far side flatter than that on the Lesotho side, even though it was interspersed with kopjes. They had left the jagged mountains of the Drakensberg behind.

  “That’s the Caledon River and on the other side, that’s South African territory,” she yelled.

  They were still descending rapidly. The speed of the descent concerned him, but he still kept an eye on the Beaver. He didn’t want to lose it.

  “Never mind the damn river, just keep as close as you can to the Beaver,” he shouted.

  He could see the pilot of the Beaver was barely able to control the aircraft, it yawed and skidded as it descended. The moment the pilot endeavoured to reduce speed, the small piece of rudder still left became less effective, which left the pilot no option but to maintain a high-speed descent. Now they were no more than a thousand feet from the ground and it was time to find a place suitable for an emergency landing. The pilot had obviously decided on a course of action; he was bringing the plane round into the wind, the direction of which could be judged from the smoke of a bushfire in the distance.

  Peace then saw where he thought the pilot would try to put the stricken aircraft down — a gravel road that wound its way through the kopjes, gently undulating, but at least relatively straight in one section for about a mile.

  “Keep behind the aircraft. Don’t let it get too far from us,” he shouted into the microphone.

  Clearly, she was doing her best. They stuck with the Beaver, the helicopter moving downwards but forwards. He realised that she had started preparing for auto-gyration. Their descent had caused the rotor to be driven like a windmill in the wind, with its revolutions ever increasing. For the moment, they’d both forgotten the aircraft in front of them, as their attention was focused on landing the helicopter in one piece. Cherry was shouting at him to brace for impact as the ground approached them rapidly. He sat down on the floor, grabbed the bulkhead that separated the cargo and cockpit areas, brought his knees up, and said a quick silent prayer.

  Just when he thought it was too late, Cherry twisted the collective pitch control, causing the huge rotor blades to bite into the air and create lift. Their descent
quickly slowed and their downward passage coming to a near stop. The helicopter hovered for a few seconds just above the ground and then sank the last foot or so and settled in the long grass with a slight bump.

  As the rotor spooled down, he could not help himself and whispered into the microphone, “Jesus! That was close! But, sweetheart, I’ll fly with you anytime — that was fuckin’ brilliant!”

  All he heard was her drawing in deep breaths of air; she was obviously in a semi-state of shock.

  “Breathe, baby — breathe,” he said.

  When he’d last seen the plane, it was over the road, the pilot trying to put it down while fighting to keep the wings level with a minimum of yaw. He knew the landing would have been spectacular.

  “Out, out!” he shouted at her. He grabbed the carbine and the H&K and jumped from the helicopter with her right behind him. The grass was so long that he could barely look over it. He had a good idea of the direction in which the road lay. He gave her the assault rifle and they moved off in single file, with him leading the way, brushing the long elephant grass stalks aside. It was surprisingly warm and their passage through the grass disturbed the insects, which rose in small clouds as they swiped at them.

  Suddenly, they found themselves on the side of the road standing on a small border mound thrown up by a grader. They could see the aircraft a few hundred yards away. It had veered off the road, its tail high in the sky. One of the pontoons had broken off, one wing pointing skyward.

  “Quick! Let’s get to them before they find their wits. Hopefully, they’re still dazed.” He ran down the gravel road, the H&K held at the ready across his stomach. He could hear her footfalls behind him.

  As they neared the aircraft, he saw that its nose had driven into the side of a deep donga, just off the road. The metal around the engine had crumpled, the propeller blades bent back, and the Plexiglas windscreen smashed. A wing was torn off. He could just make out a person seated in the plane, half sprawled over the instrument panel.

  “Hurry!” he shouted. “They’re still stuck in the cockpit.”

  She had put on a burst of speed and now ran beside him, trying to get to the wrecked plane before anyone managed to climb from it.

  They were no more than fifty yards from the plane when Van Rhyn rose from the tall grass that edged the road next to the gully, a machine pistol in his hands. Peace put his hand on Cherry’s shoulder and shoved with all the strength he could muster, but before she fell, the machine pistol chattered, throwing a spray of bullets at them.

  Something slammed into his left side, sending him sprawling. As he fell, he saw out of the corner of his eye, Cherry’s head being thrown back. A feeling of intense fear gripped him as he realised that she’d also been hit. As he went down, he blindly fired a few shots, sufficient to make Van Rhyn dive for cover. Taking up a position to shield Cherry, he rose to one knee and again sprayed the area with bullets where he’d last seen Van Rhyn, hoping this would dissuade him from showing himself once more.

  Ice-cold fear gripped him like a vice and in a near panic, he forced himself to look at her, as she sprawled on her back on the gravel. In that brief moment, he realised she was gravely wounded — shot in the chest just below the heart. He knew there had to be internal injuries. A low moan of anguish escaped his lips as he placed his arms under her and lifted her to a sitting position. She fell sideways and came to rest against him. Her breathing was shallow, and her face had turned a sickly pallor.

  “You’re going to be all right,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms and rocking her back and forth.

  She opened her eyes and stared past him, her eyes round with terror. He swung around just in time to see a hyena, its leash trailing behind it, bounding down the road towards them. Peace gave an almost inhuman howl and let Cherry go. He dropped to the ground, putting himself between the animal and Cherry. There was no time to pull his pistol from his belt. As the hyena closed on him, he quickly rose to his feet and reached out with his hands, preparing to grab the hyena by its throat as it leapt at him. Instead, and to his surprise, it veered around him and landed on Cherry.

  He scrambled to get hold of the animal but it already it had its massive jaws around Cherry’s neck. Desperately, he drew the automatic from his belt, but it was a futile act. The huge animal shook its head, and he distinctly heard the crack as her neck broke. The huge fangs had punctured her neck, and the first signs of blood were visible.

  He shoved the barrel in the hyena’s ear and pulled the trigger. The shot blew out the animal’s brains in a cloud of blood and gristle. It slumped to the ground, lying half over Cherry.

  A shudder rose from the depths of his soul and accompanied by an overwhelming feeling of despair and anguish he yowled in anger.

  He dropped his head to his knees. He knew she was dead and another primordial wail escaped from his lips. He swung round to seek out Van Rhyn, picking up the carbine and bringing it to his shoulder. Van Rhyn was already running towards him, no more than two hundred yards away. Tears of rage, hate and frustration blurred his vision as he tried to get the rifle’s sights on the man, but some sixth sense must have warned Van Rhyn who began weaving from side to side. Peace knew he had only a few cartridges left. He pulled off only two shots. Both missed.

  He heard a motor vehicle behind him and turned to see a dilapidated medium-sized truck approaching with about a dozen farmworkers on the rear with some standing and holding the roll bar behind the cab. He thought he could see others who squatted on the floor. The occupants waved to him, smiling and laughing, as was their custom. They had not yet seen the aircraft in the ditch. As the truck passed the plane, those on the back began to hammer furiously on the cab’s roof, trying to get the driver’s attention. By the time the vehicle stopped, it was alongside Van Rhyn. Peace’s view was hampered, but he heard two shots and suddenly the crew rapidly disgorged from the truck and fled in panic into the long grass.

  “Jesus!” Peace, who had begun running, screamed as he skidded to a halt on the gravel. He aimed the assault rifle and fired another two shots, but Van Rhyn was already in the truck’s cab, having commandeered it at gunpoint. The engine roared and the wheels spun; gravel and dust spurted from the tyres as they sought traction.

  He felt another wave of panic as it dawned on him the man was about to escape. He watched as the truck drew away. However, it was slow; Van Rhyn was clearly not able to coax much speed out of it.

  “Think, think!” he cried aloud, trying to put the tragic events of the last few moments behind him. He needed to deal with Van Rhyn. The man could not be allowed to escape again.

  He heard the sound of another vehicle and it came into view trailing dust. It was a surplus Army Jeep painted a bright green, a lone driver the only occupant. It drew up alongside him. Blue smoke burbled from the exhaust; the vehicle had seen better days. Behind the wheel sat an elderly man, his head covered by a shabby Stetson, wisps of grey hair peeping from beneath its brim.

  “Liewe Here! Wat het hier gebeur?[24]” the man said, his eyes wide with alarm as he stared at the body in the ditch and the dead hyena.

  “Somebody shot her. He hijacked a truck from some labourers a minute ago and has just disappeared over that rise.” Peace pointed in the direction where the truck had disappeared. “Sir, I need your vehicle,” he asked solemnly, but it was clear he was not to be refused.

  The old man looked at him. Peace realised he must present a disturbing picture. The old farmer was seeing an unkempt, unshaven man, dressed in a filthy black jumpsuit, grasping an automatic machine pistol in one hand, and bleeding from a wound in his side. The farmer must have sensed that this was not the time to argue. Without saying a word, he slid from the seat and gestured for Peace to take the vehicle.

  With an inaudible word of thanks, and now armed with both weapons, he jumped into the driver’s seat, rammed the Jeep into gear, and with a jerk and cloud of blue smoke tore down the road in pursuit. The smoke might have indicated that the engine needed an over
haul, but the Jeep still managed a good turn of speed and with the accelerator pressed to the floor, he soon had the speedometer needle nudging the 60 m.p.h. mark. A large plume of dust and smoke trailed behind them.

  He drove as if possessed by a demon, his whole being focused solely on seizing or killing Van Rhyn. He roared through the small gullies that bisected the road, causing the suspension to bottom out, sending jarring shocks through the vehicle. It would even become momentarily airborne when it crested any small rise in the road.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  He topped a small rise and saw the truck in the distance. Clearly, his speed was greater, and this had enabled him to catch up. Still, the Jeep’s engine rattled in protest as he continued to push it to the limits.

  Please God, he breathed a prayer, let the engine hold.

  Van Rhyn must have realised that the vehicle coming up behind him was in pursuit. He swung the truck off the road onto a farm track that passed through two large stone pillars, a large signboard proclaiming that the road now entered the Willow Ridge Guest Farm. The board also mentioned that it was famous for its ten-thousand cherry trees.

  Peace followed, the Jeep sliding sideways on the gravel as he battled to control the power-slide. He barely missed one of the stone pillars. He noticed the truck in front slow appreciably, and quickly accelerate again. He wondered why. The reason for this soon became apparent.

  A deep gully loomed in front, the track disappearing into a deep ditch two or three yards wide, bordered by reeds and containing water. The approach to it was sudden and steep.

  Surprised, he stomped his foot on the brake pedal. The wheels locked, the Jeep immediately slewing sideways. He fought the wheel, trying to straighten the vehicle but was only partially successful; the vehicle entered the water at a forty-five-degree angle. He was enveloped in spray. Then, with a loud bang, the rear side of the Jeep collided with something. It straightened with a vicious jerk, but the force was sufficient to throw both weapons from the open vehicle, leaving him with only Cherry’s automatic. He wasn’t going to stop and retrieve the weapons. Any delay might result in him losing Van Rhyn. He was determined to catch him, even if it meant killing him with his bare hands, if necessary.