for the night; the sounds of swamps and insects. Add to that the constant background hum from the chopper. The jungle was alive with noise.
Mitch felt a sense of anger and frustration. He knew his chances of finding Ngola were very slim. If Ngola was here and watching him, all the bandit had to do was keep one step ahead, or just lie low and wait for Mitch to blunder into his position.
Nelson was right. This was a wild-goose chase. This was Ngola’s home territory; he could hide herefor a long time. And the longer Mitch waited, the more the clock ticked towards the chopper leaving. If he wanted to get home alive, he should be on the chopper. But Mitch couldn’t shake his feeling of responsibility to Adwana and the other villagers. If he left the jungle now, Ngola and his men would carry out their threat and all the villagers would die, butchered horribly.
He wondered how long he had left. He was sure Nelson’s original ten minutes must be up. And then he heard the sound of the chopper’s engine change as it engaged. He could feel the downdraught of the rotors through the trees and the lights rising in the night sky. The helicopter was leaving.
He hoped Two Moons had made it back in time. Mitch was sure he had: Two Moons had been with Nelson for two years, so he’d know that when Nelson said something, he meant it. And, as Nelson had said right from the start, the aim of the mission was to rescue Mwanga and get him to safety. Delta Unit had gone; Mitch was on his own.
24
Mitch strained his ears for sounds that would give Ngola away. He listened for boots cracking on twigs. For guns being cocked.
Ngola had a machete and a pistol. He seemed to favour the machete, but he would have to be close to his enemy to use it. A pistol killed from a distance. But that meant getting a clear shot. Here in the jungle, at night, that wouldn’t be so easy.
Mitch hefted the rifle in his hands. It was an FN FAL with a twenty-round magazine. He’d used one before; it was a good weapon. The magazine felt half empty, so he guessed he had about ten bullets. He made sure the rifle was on single shot.
Suddenly he heard a noise. A rustle in the trees, then footsteps approaching. More than one.
He crouched down, his finger on the trigger, ready to fire as soon as he saw Ngola. Then, through the ambient light still coming from the fires and burning wreckage, Mitch saw Ngola with a group of his armed bandits pushing their way through the undergrowth, heading back towards the hotel. They must have felt it was safe to return now the helicopter had gone.
Mitch raised the rifle and took sight. He cursed. He couldn’t get a clear shot as Ngola was surrounded by about six men. He’d have to get rid of the ones in the way first before he could take out Ngola.
He fired twice, and hit his targets both times. Two men crumpled to the ground, yelling in pain as his bullets struck home. Ngola stopped and swung round, and in the half-light Mitch could see the expression of shock on his face as he looked down at the two fallen men.
Got you! thought Mitch triumphantly as he held Ngola firmly in his sights and pulled the trigger.
The gun jammed.
‘Damn!’ cursed Mitch.
He pulled the trigger again, but the bullets were stuck. Either the bandit whose gun it had been hadn’t looked after it, or he’d stuffed the wrong size ammo in the magazine. Mitch heard shouting and realised that Ngola had recovered and was screaming orders at his men, ordering them to scatter and search the jungle.
Then Ngola’s voice yelled out: ‘Hear me, Yankee!’
He’s got that wrong, thought Mitch.
‘The fact you didn’t shoot me after you killed my men means your gun is useless!’ continued Ngola.
But he’s got that one right, mused Mitch.
‘If you give yourself up, I will give you a quick and easy death!’ Ngola shouted. ‘But if you make me come and find you, your death will be more painful than you can imagine!’
There was silence, and then Ngola
Mitch felt a sense of anger and frustration. He knew his chances of finding Ngola were very slim. If Ngola was here and watching him, all the bandit had to do was keep one step ahead, or just lie low and wait for Mitch to blunder into his position.
Nelson was right. This was a wild-goose chase. This was Ngola’s home territory; he could hide herefor a long time. And the longer Mitch waited, the more the clock ticked towards the chopper leaving. If he wanted to get home alive, he should be on the chopper. But Mitch couldn’t shake his feeling of responsibility to Adwana and the other villagers. If he left the jungle now, Ngola and his men would carry out their threat and all the villagers would die, butchered horribly.
He wondered how long he had left. He was sure Nelson’s original ten minutes must be up. And then he heard the sound of the chopper’s engine change as it engaged. He could feel the downdraught of the rotors through the trees and the lights rising in the night sky. The helicopter was leaving.
He hoped Two Moons had made it back in time. Mitch was sure he had: Two Moons had been with Nelson for two years, so he’d know that when Nelson said something, he meant it. And, as Nelson had said right from the start, the aim of the mission was to rescue Mwanga and get him to safety. Delta Unit had gone; Mitch was on his own.
24
Mitch strained his ears for sounds that would give Ngola away. He listened for boots cracking on twigs. For guns being cocked.
Ngola had a machete and a pistol. He seemed to favour the machete, but he would have to be close to his enemy to use it. A pistol killed from a distance. But that meant getting a clear shot. Here in the jungle, at night, that wouldn’t be so easy.
Mitch hefted the rifle in his hands. It was an FN FAL with a twenty-round magazine. He’d used one before; it was a good weapon. The magazine felt half empty, so he guessed he had about ten bullets. He made sure the rifle was on single shot.
Suddenly he heard a noise. A rustle in the trees, then footsteps approaching. More than one.
He crouched down, his finger on the trigger, ready to fire as soon as he saw Ngola. Then, through the ambient light still coming from the fires and burning wreckage, Mitch saw Ngola with a group of his armed bandits pushing their way through the undergrowth, heading back towards the hotel. They must have felt it was safe to return now the helicopter had gone.
Mitch raised the rifle and took sight. He cursed. He couldn’t get a clear shot as Ngola was surrounded by about six men. He’d have to get rid of the ones in the way first before he could take out Ngola.
He fired twice, and hit his targets both times. Two men crumpled to the ground, yelling in pain as his bullets struck home. Ngola stopped and swung round, and in the half-light Mitch could see the expression of shock on his face as he looked down at the two fallen men.
Got you! thought Mitch triumphantly as he held Ngola firmly in his sights and pulled the trigger.
The gun jammed.
‘Damn!’ cursed Mitch.
He pulled the trigger again, but the bullets were stuck. Either the bandit whose gun it had been hadn’t looked after it, or he’d stuffed the wrong size ammo in the magazine. Mitch heard shouting and realised that Ngola had recovered and was screaming orders at his men, ordering them to scatter and search the jungle.
Then Ngola’s voice yelled out: ‘Hear me, Yankee!’
He’s got that wrong, thought Mitch.
‘The fact you didn’t shoot me after you killed my men means your gun is useless!’ continued Ngola.
But he’s got that one right, mused Mitch.
‘If you give yourself up, I will give you a quick and easy death!’ Ngola shouted. ‘But if you make me come and find you, your death will be more painful than you can imagine!’
There was silence, and then Ngola
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