parked. It was a small object coming towards them. It hadn't been there a moment ago. It must have turned onto the road from a track further ahead.
Mike reacted even before he'd processed the thought. Rider and pillion. "Red One, Blue One, bike, at speed, approaching from Dibeg. Stand by."
Rob jerked his head around, looking for a path into the scrub either side of the road. "Here we go. Might be nothing. Red One, Blue One — get ready to put your foot down."
Mike's eye caught a lateral movement.
"RPG," he said. " RPG ."
It might just have been the pillion passenger's arm. But he'd seen the movement a hundred times, and his reflexes reacted to anything that looked like it. Was it a tube? Yes. At fifty miles an hour there was no time to debate. The bus was now in rocket range whether it kept going or veered off. The only option was to block the bike and take it out, or hope the guy missed. A rocket had a fifty-fifty chance of missing a fast-moving target over 200 yards. Mike lowered the window, steadied himself against the door, and prepared to fire.
If he was wrong, he'd be in deep shit. But he couldn't afford to wait. They were closing at twenty-five yards a second.
Do it.
He fired a long burst. The bike snaked off onto the dirt for a few yards but carried on. Rob floored the Suburban to swerve into its path and Mike lost his shot. The last thing he saw as they hit the motorcycle was a long green tube and a yellow flash that he was sure was coming straight through the windshield. Bang. It was an explosion or the impact or both.
The Suburban did a squealing one-eighty turn and stopped dead, throwing Mike against the seat belt. It took him a couple of seconds to unbuckle, jump out, and take cover behind the open door. Smoke rose from a point some way out in the scrubby bush.
"Over there." Rob crouched behind the driver's door, trying to get Mike's attention across the front seats. "Look."
Mike risked sticking his head out. He could see the bike on its side and a mound of debris. "Red Two to Red One, we've hit a bike. Possible RPG. We're checking it out."
Teetotal's vehicle and the bus were long gone. That was the drill – foot to the floor and get out of the kill zone without stopping. There was always the chance of a secondary attack following up behind. But nothing was moving out there. Mike could hear the chatter on his radio.
" Red Two, we've called it in. Naz army and police on their way. " That was Jake, Teetotal's South African co-driver. " Fok it, man, you okay? "
"Red One, no injuries." Rob edged out of cover. "Well, not us, anyway. We're checking now. Wait, out."
If they'd shot and rammed some unlucky repairman carrying a length of drainage pipe, there'd be hell to pay. War, or whatever fine legal distinction Mike was allowed to use these days, had become a maze of attorneys and office-bound second-guessers. It stopped him firing when he needed to. It got guys killed.
And maybe sixty civilian engineers killed with them. No thanks. Go ahead. Arrest me.
The bike lay at the end of a trail of tyre marks and fluid that turned out to be oil and blood. One guy lay on the ground with his head caved in, limbs bent. Rob covered Mike while he checked the body. The other Nazani guy lay yards away in the dirt. Mike squatted to check for a pulse. Either Rob had rammed the bike harder than Mike had thought or some rounds had hit their mark.
"So where's the rocket?" Mike asked. He'd seen the flash. It had to be an RPG. "Where's the tube?"
It took Rob a few minutes to find some debris scattered in the scrub. He brandished a launching tube like a trophy.
"You called it, Zombie. Good effort."
It was a massive relief. Mike had started to doubt himself. They walked back to the Suburban and inspected the damage, noting dents, gouges in the bumper guard, and scratched paint.
"Not bad." Rob nodded approvingly. "Better put some warning triangles down. There'll be traffic through soon."
Rob took out his phone and
Mike reacted even before he'd processed the thought. Rider and pillion. "Red One, Blue One, bike, at speed, approaching from Dibeg. Stand by."
Rob jerked his head around, looking for a path into the scrub either side of the road. "Here we go. Might be nothing. Red One, Blue One — get ready to put your foot down."
Mike's eye caught a lateral movement.
"RPG," he said. " RPG ."
It might just have been the pillion passenger's arm. But he'd seen the movement a hundred times, and his reflexes reacted to anything that looked like it. Was it a tube? Yes. At fifty miles an hour there was no time to debate. The bus was now in rocket range whether it kept going or veered off. The only option was to block the bike and take it out, or hope the guy missed. A rocket had a fifty-fifty chance of missing a fast-moving target over 200 yards. Mike lowered the window, steadied himself against the door, and prepared to fire.
If he was wrong, he'd be in deep shit. But he couldn't afford to wait. They were closing at twenty-five yards a second.
Do it.
He fired a long burst. The bike snaked off onto the dirt for a few yards but carried on. Rob floored the Suburban to swerve into its path and Mike lost his shot. The last thing he saw as they hit the motorcycle was a long green tube and a yellow flash that he was sure was coming straight through the windshield. Bang. It was an explosion or the impact or both.
The Suburban did a squealing one-eighty turn and stopped dead, throwing Mike against the seat belt. It took him a couple of seconds to unbuckle, jump out, and take cover behind the open door. Smoke rose from a point some way out in the scrubby bush.
"Over there." Rob crouched behind the driver's door, trying to get Mike's attention across the front seats. "Look."
Mike risked sticking his head out. He could see the bike on its side and a mound of debris. "Red Two to Red One, we've hit a bike. Possible RPG. We're checking it out."
Teetotal's vehicle and the bus were long gone. That was the drill – foot to the floor and get out of the kill zone without stopping. There was always the chance of a secondary attack following up behind. But nothing was moving out there. Mike could hear the chatter on his radio.
" Red Two, we've called it in. Naz army and police on their way. " That was Jake, Teetotal's South African co-driver. " Fok it, man, you okay? "
"Red One, no injuries." Rob edged out of cover. "Well, not us, anyway. We're checking now. Wait, out."
If they'd shot and rammed some unlucky repairman carrying a length of drainage pipe, there'd be hell to pay. War, or whatever fine legal distinction Mike was allowed to use these days, had become a maze of attorneys and office-bound second-guessers. It stopped him firing when he needed to. It got guys killed.
And maybe sixty civilian engineers killed with them. No thanks. Go ahead. Arrest me.
The bike lay at the end of a trail of tyre marks and fluid that turned out to be oil and blood. One guy lay on the ground with his head caved in, limbs bent. Rob covered Mike while he checked the body. The other Nazani guy lay yards away in the dirt. Mike squatted to check for a pulse. Either Rob had rammed the bike harder than Mike had thought or some rounds had hit their mark.
"So where's the rocket?" Mike asked. He'd seen the flash. It had to be an RPG. "Where's the tube?"
It took Rob a few minutes to find some debris scattered in the scrub. He brandished a launching tube like a trophy.
"You called it, Zombie. Good effort."
It was a massive relief. Mike had started to doubt himself. They walked back to the Suburban and inspected the damage, noting dents, gouges in the bumper guard, and scratched paint.
"Not bad." Rob nodded approvingly. "Better put some warning triangles down. There'll be traffic through soon."
Rob took out his phone and
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