Manhunter by Chris Ryan (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

him. ‘I had a choice,’ he said softly. ‘The army, or prison.’

‘Fuck me. What did you do?’

He looked away.

‘Long story,’ he said. ‘Another time.’

‘Let’s just focus on getting out of here alive,’ said Mallet. ‘We’re not safe yet. Those Boys might fancy another crack at us before they raise the white flag.’

For the next fifty minutes the team took turns keeping watch over the stronghold. They worked in pairs in half-hour rotations. Two guys on OP duty while the other two guys got some kip. Despite the exhaustion each of them was feeling, they found it impossible to switch off. They were too wired, restless. Like trying to sleep after knocking back a crate of energy drinks. Only Loader managed to get a proper rest.

Then a cry went up from the northern parapet.

‘Vehicles coming this way,’ Webb said.

Mallet and Loader shot up and hurriedly took up their observation points. Bowman looked beyond the treeline at his two o’clock. He saw a large dust cloud stirring close to the horizon.

‘Another load of Machete Boys?’ Loader asked.

Webb paused as he focused his sights on the dust cloud. ‘Doesn’t look like it,’ he said finally.

‘What can you see?’ Bowman said.

‘Buses,’ Webb replied. ‘Three of them. Look like school buses.’

Loader grunted. ‘Bit fucking weird.’

Mallet said, ‘Is there a school round here, Major?’

‘If there is,’ came the reply over the radio, ‘it’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘More vehicles inbound.’ Webb was giving a running commentary as he observed the dust cloud through the Schmidt & Bender scope. ‘I see four of them. An SUV. Looks like a Land Cruiser.’ He paused again. ‘A pickup, two personnel trucks. Looks like a substantial force heading our way, guys.’

Bowman felt his guts drop. Mallet rushed over to the north-facing parapet and trained the .50 cal sights on the convoy.

‘Army trucks?’ Loader said. ‘I thought the major said there’s no local garrison in the vicinity.’

‘There isn’t,’ Bowman said. ‘Apart from the platoon at the airfield. And they’re under orders not to abandon their posts at any cost.’

‘Major, are we expecting any friendlies in the area?’ Mallet said into his mic.

‘Let me check,’ Mavinda replied.

Webb watched the dust cloud.

Bowman and Loader scanned the flanks.

Mallet waited thirty seconds.

Then he said, ‘What’s the news, Major?’

There was a long beat before Mavinda replied. ‘Negative,’ he said. ‘There are no friendly forces in the area. Repeat, no friendlies.’

‘So who the fuck are these guys?’ Loader wondered.

Webb said nothing.

Bowman swallowed.

Mallet said, ‘They’re not friendly soldiers. It’s the KUF. They’re here. Them and their Russian advisers.’

Thirty

Bowman looked on as the KUF convoy approached the stronghold from the west. The dust cloud migrated south as the vehicles motored past the village towards the T-junction. The convoy hit the metalled road, and the cloud promptly disappeared behind the broad belt of trees to the north-west of the estate. After a short while, Bowman heard the low distant growl of diesel engines, steadily growing louder as the rebels neared the main road opposite the estate.

‘Mike, Alex. Major. We’ve got a large force of KUF rebels coming our way,’ Mallet said. ‘Get ready. We’re gonna need to hit these bastards hard when they attack.’

Somewhere behind the treeline came the screech of brakes. A thick plume of dust eddied into the sky. Then Bowman heard the pneumatic hiss of bus doors sucking open, the faint din of shouts and cries carrying across the hot morning air.

‘How many guys do you think they’ve got?’ Loader asked.

‘Hard to tell,’ Mallet replied. ‘Twenty men in each truck. Another twenty or so in the buses. We’re looking at maybe a hundred rebels. Could be more.’

‘Jesus.’

‘You think the Russians are with them?’ Webb said.

Mallet said, ‘I’d bet my pension on it.’

‘Let’s hope they don’t decide to join in the fighting.’

‘They won’t. The Russians will be on the ground, directing the rebels. But they won’t get involved in the shooting.’

‘Just as well,’ said Loader. ‘We’ve got our hands full dealing with these fuckers. The last thing we need is a bunch of Spetsnaz guys getting stuck in.’

Mallet and Webb continued watching the treeline. Loader and Bowman observed the east and west flanks.

Nothing happened for several minutes.

Bowman could guess what was happening on the far side of the woods. The Russians would be thrashing out a new plan with the rebels. Taking control of the situation. You’ve had your chance, they would be saying to the Machete Boys. Now it’s our turn. This is what we’re going to do.

They would be organising their forces, briefing them on the attack. The Russians would probably draw a rough map of the stronghold on the ground. A crude model, with a rock to represent the mansion and twigs for the surrounding fence. Branches for the treeline. Leaves for the archway. They would use it to point out features when talking the rebels through the assault. You guys will advance from here. You’ll target this sector. Helping the soldiers to visualise the plan.

Still nothing happened.

‘Guys, have you seen anything?’ Mallet asked twelve minutes later. ‘Any movement around the flanks?’

‘Not a thing,’ Bowman said.

‘Same,’ Loader said.

‘Major, what’s the situation at the rear?’ Mallet asked.

‘All quiet here,’ Mavinda reported.

‘The bastards are up to something,’ Loader said.

‘Any word on D Squadron landing at that airfield?’ Bowman said. ‘They should have landed a few minutes ago.’

‘Checking in now,’ Mallet replied.

He kept one eye on the woods while he dialled the Voice. He spoke in a terse tone as he told Voice about the arrival of the rebels. He described the size of the enemy force, the direction they had travelled from. The information would help D Squadron to plan their route to the stronghold, so they wouldn’t run straight into the enemy. He told the Voice to make sure D Squadron hurried the fuck up.

‘D Squadron has landed,’ he said as he hung up. ‘They’re on the way.’

‘Have we got an ETA?’ asked Loader.

‘Could be anytime. Depends what’s waiting for them lads en route to this place.’

Bowman felt his guts stir. We’re relying