by Tony Park
Hess and Klaus scanned the bush around them, alert for the slightest noise. Hess willed the Russian to take his shot.
The rhino turned side-on again, reaching for another thorn branch. Abruptly, it stopped feeding, and raised its big head a few centimetres. Orlov watched the big nostrils flare as it sniffed the wind. He thought that the scent of a female was a good last sensory sensation for any creature. Again he took up the slack on the trigger.
Two gunshots shattered the still of the night and brilliant flashes of light robbed Hess of his night vision. Instinctively, the hunter flattened himself on the ground. The rhino disappeared from Orlov’s vision.
‘What have you done?’ Hess hissed. His first thought was that the silencer on the M-14 had malfunctioned.
‘It wasn’t me!’ Orlov protested. ‘I didn’t even get off a fucking shot.’
‘To your left, baas,’ Klaus whispered. ‘Sounded like an FN. Maybe only thirty metres.’
‘Scheisse! Put some fire on him, Klaus. Now!’
The big African raised himself to his knees, flipped the selector switch on his AK-47 to automatic and pumped out two short bursts of three rounds each. Small night creatures scattered noisily through the bush as Hess leopard-crawled through grass and dried leaves until he was next to Orlov, who was also now lying on the ground.
‘Give me that,’ Hess said, grabbing the sniper rifle from Orlov.
A protest died on Orlov’s lips as he remembered the firefight in Mozambique. While he craved the adrenaline rush of just such a fight, he knew he had been lucky to survive the previous year’s gun battle.
‘More fire, Klaus! Cover me, I’m moving forward.’
One of the poachers joined Klaus in laying down a barrage of deafening gunfire as Hess raised himself up and sprinted forward.
‘One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand,’ Hess chanted softly in German as he ran. Before he got to ‘three’ he threw himself flat on the ground amid fallen thorns and dried undergrowth. He knew that three seconds was all it took for a marksman to take aim and fire. He rolled four metres to a new spot, in case anyone had seen where he dived for cover, cradling the M-14 to his chest like a baby as he twisted. He stopped behind the trunk of a stout tree, raised himself up on his elbows and brought the night sight up to his eye.
In front of him, to his surprise, he saw the dirt road and followed it, through the sight, to the clearing surrounding the rhino boma. He had not realised they were so close. Movement flickered at the periphery of the night sight’s fuzzy green circle. He adjusted his aim to the right and saw a man burst from the cover of the trees and run across the little clearing.
The man carried a rifle, an FN, as Klaus had guessed. ‘Three seconds,’ Hess whispered to himself as he followed the man until the crosshairs were fixed on a point just in front of him. By leading the running man with his aim, his bullets would intersect with the target’s body by the time they reached him.
Hess flicked the safety to fire and squeezed the trigger twice. The first shot missed, but the second found its mark and the man collapsed in the dust, about ten metres short of a gate in the wooden fence surrounding the rhino pens.
Instinctively, Hess ducked his head as a burst of automatic fire, including the glowing trails of two rounds of bright green tracer, rocketed from a gap in the wooden fence. The bullets were coming nowhere near Hess, which told him the other side was laying down suppressive fire to cover the man who had been running.
The fire also meant the running ranger was not alone. Hess briefly wondered what had caused the National Parks staff to increase the number of guards on the rhinos.
He peered into the night sight again and watched the man on the ground writhing in pain. The man lifted a hand and called out to the people inside the boma, ‘Stay inside, stay inside!’ Then he coughed painfully.
Hess knew exactly what he would do if he were safe behind a wall and a comrade of his was lying wounded outside under fire from a sniper. He would stay where he was and, if necessary, put the man out of his misery. But Karl Hess knew that he was different from most other men, so he watched and waited for what he knew would happen next.
‘For God’s sake, what’s going on?’ Sarah demanded, when the first two gunshots went off.
‘It is all right,’ Samson said. ‘The boss, Patrick, is scaring the rhino away. Our only risk is that the animal might charge his way. That is why he has ordered us in here.’
Samson had only just swung the big gate of the wooden fence shut when the gunfire began. The rhinos grunted and jostled against the wooden railings of their individual enclosures at the sound of the rifle fire.
When the AK-47s opened up, one after another, Mike, Sarah and Samson all dropped to the dusty dirt floor of the pen. Mike hoped the stout rhino-proof timbers of the fence were strong enough to protect them from the assault rifles’ bullets.
Sarah huddled close to him and he wrapped an arm protectively around her. She didn’t resist, and nestled even closer to Mike’s side as a couple of stray rounds zinged over the top of the fence.
‘The fire is coming from a long way off,’ Samson said.
‘Yeah. They’re deep in the bush. Probably can’t even see the boma,’ Mike said in agreement with the ranger. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but he wanted to reassure Sarah. He felt her start to move. ‘Stay down!’ he barked.
But Sarah was on her knees now, crawling to the fence and peering through a gap. ‘Look, it’s Patrick! Here he comes!’
Samson and Mike squinted through other cracks in the fence. They could see the old ranger sprinting like an Olympic athlete, his FN held out in front of him to keep his balance.
‘Run, man, run!’ Mike urged him.
Both the AK-47s had stopped firing. As Patrick moved closer and broke into the clearing they could hear the rapid thump of his feet in the sand. Small clouds of dust rose with each step.
Suddenly he fell, heavily, and Mike thought for a moment he had tripped. ‘Get up, get up!’ Mike willed him, but there was no movement.
‘My God, look!’ Sarah cried. ‘There’s blood on the ground, it’s coming from his belly!’
Patrick was no more than ten metres from the boma, reaching out to the others with his right hand, clutching his side with his left. He had certainly been shot, but there had been no sound of gunfire. Mike was momentarily confused, but then the pieces fell into place.
Samson stood and cocked his AK-47. He flicked the selector to full automatic and reached up until his rifle was pointing over the top of the six-foot-high fence. He pulled the trigger and sent a burst of fire in the general direction of where the other rounds had been coming from.
‘One of them must have a silent rifle,’ Samson said, as he dropped down beside Mike and swapped the empty magazine on his weapon for a full one.
‘And maybe a nightscope, too,’ Mike added.
‘You mean he can see in the dark, like the gizmos they use in the movies?’ Sarah said.
‘Yes, but this isn’t the movies – the bullets are real. We’ve got to get Patrick inside,’ Mike said.
‘If it’s not the movies then why are you talking like Bruce bloody Willis? You’ll be cut down before you get close to him.’ There was real concern in her voice.
Mike found her words touching, but he couldn’t let a man die without trying to help him. Once again, it seemed he would be left with another person’s life on his conscience. If he hadn’t raised the alarm, old Patrick would probably be fast asleep right now.
‘Stay inside, stay inside!’ Patrick called to them from outside the fence.
‘Let me go,’ said Samson, as he began to stand.
Mike laid a hand on his arm and pulled him down. ‘You have to look after the lady, Samson, and we’ll need some firepower to get out of here.’
Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘This isn’t the way, Mike.’ She reached out and laid a hand on his knee. ‘You won’t bring anybody back by getting yourself kill
ed.’
He was surprised that she could see into his mind so clearly, but he knew what he had to do.
‘I’ll need hobos of covering fire, Samson,’ Mike said, using the local word for ‘lots’. ‘A whole magazine at least. OK?’
‘All right, but if this man has a silencer and a nightscope he knows what he is doing. We don’t even know what direction he is firing from. Remember, he can see in the dark,’ Samson said, as he peered through the crack in the fence at Patrick.
‘Are these infra-red, these scope things? Do they pick up body heat?’ Sarah asked.
Mike was getting keyed up to go through the gate and he didn’t need distractions. ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘They work on image intensification. They magnify any light that’s around.’
‘So light like tonight?’
‘Is perfect for him. Not too dark, not too bright with only half a moon. I don’t have all night to explain this, Sarah.’
‘Just bloody well bear with me. Let me get this straight – too much light’s a bad thing for a night sight?’
‘Too much light, a very bad thing. If we had a spotlight or a floodlight and could put it on him, the light would be so intense it might damage his eyes. His scope would be whited out, overloaded, for sure. But we don’t have a spotlight.’
Mike stood and turned his back on Sarah. He and Samson walked to the boma gate at a crouch and discussed their hasty plan.
‘I’ll open the gate and you lay it down, hot and heavy, Samson. Keep it low and spray all around, OK?’ Mike asked.
‘OK,’ Samson said with a nod. He stood by the gate, rifle raised at the ready. Samson unbuttoned one of his chest pouches, ready to reload the rifle once his magazine was empty.
Patrick coughed and groaned from the other side of the fence. Mike jogged back to where Sarah was standing, peering through the fence. Despite the tension of the moment he was sorry he had cut her questioning off so abruptly.
‘I’m sorry about before. Here, take the pistol. Remember how to use it?’
‘Won’t you need it out there?’ Sarah asked.
‘I won’t have time. Besides, if anything . . . if anything happens, you might need it.’
She blinked her blue eyes a couple of times and Mike wondered if she was fighting back tears. He held out the pistol, but she ignored it. For a moment they stood in silence, looking into each other’s eyes.
Mike stepped closer to her and took her hand, pushing the pistol into it. As she took the weapon he reached out with his free hand and drew her body close to his. He kissed her hard on the mouth and, just when he thought she might push him away, he felt her lips part.
Samson coughed. ‘Mister?’ he said.
Mike broke their embrace, which had only lasted a couple of seconds, and Sarah stepped back from him, the pistol hanging heavy in her right hand.
‘Gosh,’ she said, confusion clouding her face. ‘Good luck.’
Mike nodded, and walked to the gate.
‘Mike,’ she called after him.
He paused at the gate, where Samson was nervously waiting with one hand ready to lift the wooden latch from its iron brackets, and turned to face Sarah. ‘Yes?’
‘Hang on, I’ve got an idea,’ she said.
Karl Hess heard the crackling of dried leaves and twigs in the bush behind him but did not turn at the sound. All his attention was focused on the little ring of bright green light and the wounded man writhing at the centre of the illuminated picture.
‘Karl, is that you?’ Hess heard the Russian whisper from behind him, confirming his guess.
‘Be quiet and stay down.’ Hess hissed back. He had lowered the folding metal legs of the rifle’s bipod to give him extra stability and now he gently swivelled the weapon’s barrel to the left so he could view the gate in the high wooden fence. That was where the enemy would come from, at a rush and probably with covering fire. He traversed back to the wounded man. He was safe from random fire, having edged his body behind the trunk of a stout leadwood. Only the rifle barrel and the bare minimum of his skull were exposed to fire.
‘I suppose you know that we should leave now,’ Orlov whispered again, ignoring the hunter’s rebuke. Orlov crawled forward on his belly until his face was only centimetres from Hess’s left boot.
‘Where are the others?’ Hess asked, blinking away sweat that was running from under the hot woollen cap into his eyes.
‘I’ve left them back where we stopped. The poachers have no stomach for this fight. I’ve told Klaus to shoot them if they try to leave without us, but we can’t wait here all night, Karl.’ Orlov eased himself forward further until he was next to Hess and peered around the opposite side of the tree trunk. ‘Look! The gate!’
‘Here he comes, stay down!’ Hess said.
On cue, the heavy wooden gate swung open and a rattling barrage of gunfire spewed from the narrow gap.
Orlov ground his face into the dirt as yellow muzzle flashes lit up the night and bullets zinged in the air above him. Every now and then an arcing trail of bright green tracer flashed across the periphery of his vision, like the tail of a low-trajectory skyrocket.
Hess remained motionless amid the hubbub and allowed himself a small smile as a darting figure entered his narrow field of vision from the left, just as he had expected. It was a European man, clad like a tourist in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. He raced to the wounded ranger and bent to grab the man under the arms.
Shifting his aim, Hess placed the crosshairs on the standing man’s head and started to squeeze the trigger. Suddenly, the image in the night sight was gone, blasted away by a blinding burst of light.
Hess cursed and blinked, seeing nothing but silver stars when he closed his right eye. When he opened it, his vision was seared again by more brightly flashing lights. Confused, he rolled back behind the safety of the tree.
‘What is it?’ said Orlov.
‘I can’t see a fucking thing!’ Hess replied, rubbing his eyes as he spoke.
Orlov had drawn his pistol now and thrust it out in front of him. ‘Camera!’ he said, and fired off two quick shots at the man who was dragging the wounded ranger closer and closer to the open gate. Gunfire started again from the gateway. The man inside had replaced his empty magazine with a full one.
‘What?’ Hess asked. He risked a peek around the tree and light flashed from the top of the wooden fence. Now he understood. A camera. How simple, how brilliant. He shook his head. Someone had taken a succession of flash photographs with a camera and this had blinded his view through the nightscope.
‘They’re inside. We’ve lost them. Let’s go, Karl,’ Orlov said, rising to his knees.
‘Bastards!’ Hess spat. He stood, in the cover of the tree, brushing leaves from his black shirt. ‘Go back to the others, Vassily. Get to the boat and wait for me there. If I’m not there within fifteen minutes, leave without me. I’ll make my own way back.’
‘Karl, leave it! You’ve got to come now!’
Hess picked up the M-14 and folded the bipod legs back against the barrel. He slung the weapon over his head and across his back and reached up for a low branch of the leadwood. ‘No witnesses, Vassily. You know the policy.’
Orlov watched as the hunter hoisted himself up into the branches, muscles rippling under his tight shirt like those of a climbing leopard. He knew it was pointless arguing and, also, that Hess was right. ‘Fifteen minutes, Karl. That’s all,’ he said, and turned and retreated silently back into the bush.
Higher and higher Hess climbed until, at last, he could see down into the rhino boma. He found a position in the crook of two strong branches and unslung the rifle from his back. Through the green haze of the night sight he surveyed the compound.
Beyond the high wooden outer wall was a ring of clear, bare ground. Then there were individual pens for each of the orphan rhinos. From his perch he could hear their grunting and snuffling in the almost painful silence that had replaced the cacophony of gunfire. Here and there a rhino crashed noisi
ly against its wooden pen, still scared by the memory of the noise.
He moved the rifle left and right, scanning the top of the outer fence. The wounded ranger and the man who had saved him must have been sitting, or lying, close to the wooden wall, because he could not see them from this angle. There were two other targets in sight, however, including the one he most wanted.
A figure backed away, crouching, from the fence into the open ring around the pens. He focused closely on it. To his surprise, he saw it was a woman: the outline of breasts and curving hips was unmistakable as she momentarily stood. She was holding something to her face. Light flashed again and Hess instinctively closed his eyes. It was the camera again, but it was pointing down and not up at him, so the effect was neither as blinding nor as surprising as it had been at first.
‘Stupid bitch,’ he whispered to himself and let the crosshairs linger between her breasts for a second. He was amazed that someone would be taking snapshots in the aftermath of a firefight. Was this a hapless tourist or, potentially worse, a reporter or news photographer?
He moved the rifle yet again. Though the woman was an inviting, easy target, he found the man he was looking for. Hess had been concerned about the non-appearance of the poacher who had been sent to disable the radio at the rangers’ post. He assumed the man had either got lost or been captured. He had enough respect for the Zambian’s ability in the bush to doubt that he would get himself lost, so he had correctly guessed the man’s fate.
There he was, sitting with his back to one of the rhino bomas, mouth gagged and hands bound behind his back, watching whatever was going on out of Hess’s sight, in the lee of the high wooden fence. Hess imagined the white man was treating the wounded ranger. Neither the ranger nor the Samaritan who had saved him were a threat to Hess, as neither would have seen his face.
Hess placed the crosshairs over the poacher’s forehead. The man would be able to describe Hess and Orlov to the authorities once he was questioned. Hess had no reason to assume the miserable man would not cooperate fully with the Zimbabwean authorities in order to reduce his inevitable jail sentence. For his stupidity, for allowing himself to be caught, there could be only one verdict and only one punishment.