pleaded silently with the soldier, do it right there. Don't come any closer.
But the man kept on coming. Whatever it was that he intended the curved knife almost certainly had something to do with it it was going to make a lot of noise. There were going to be screams. So he was taking the woman into the bush where her evil-spirit howling wouldn't wake the camp up.
Twenty-five yards now, and Alex could hear the woman s terrified keening and the soldier's muttering as he forced her forward. If they tried to evade, to crawl sideways out of their way, the soldier would see them.
And if they stayed put... When it came to the moment, instinct took over.
Tripping the soldier with his rifle, avoiding the scything blade as both the man and the woman fell, Alex leapt on top of him. For a critical moment the soldier must have thought that a tree root was to blame for the confusion, and that the melee consisted only of himself and the woman, for he made no noise beyond an stifled curse. And then the butt of Alex's M16 met the back of his head with bone-smashing force, and he was still.
Ricky Sutton, meanwhile, had grabbed the woman.
Behind his hand she was still keening, the sound a tiny sustained ribbon of anguish. Deliberately, Sutton moved his face into a shaft of moonlight, so that she could see at a glance that despite the black cain-cream he was European, and urgently shushed her. Their eyes met his taut and pale, hers tear-rimmed and terrified and she nodded once. She was wearing a thin cotton dress and plastic sandals.
The soldier had to be dealt with and Alex had no choice but to do it in front of the woman. Lifting the unconscious man's head by the hair, he chopped inwards and dragged the blade of the Mauser knife hard through the front of his throat. There was a rushing wet heat from the jugular, a clicking gasp from the severed windpipe, and a brief shivering dance of the legs.
Within half a minute exsanguination was complete. The sticky blackness was everywhere Sutton, meanwhile, gagged the shocked, unresisting Woman with a sweat-rag. Wrists and ankles trussed with para cord she lay against a shallow incline behind them. Six feet away, the corpse of her late admirer stiffened in the cooling tar of his blood. The SAS officer and the trooper settled back to wait.
At 0350, Alex noticed a tiny shift in the quality of the darkness at the head of the Rokel valley to the east. If he looked a little to one side he could make out a ridge, a tree line, where previously there had been nothing.
The minutes passed, the cyclorama paled a further degree, and the misted, dew-charged vastness of the jungle began to reveal itself. There was nothing on earth, thought Alex, to beat the grandeur of the African dawn.
Not even the front at Clacton
He raised his binoculars. There was the command post there were the huts, there were the embers of the bonfire. And there everywhere were the sleeping soldiers and their weapons.
Quickly the men re-checked the sightings on their M16 203s. As well as a conventionally calibrated rifle-sights, which they had set to two hundred yards, their weapons had sextant-sights screwed to their carrying handles.
0355, and the pilot of Hotel Alpha, the lead Puma, was now audible on the patrol's UHF sets. His voice was relaxed.
"Coming in on schedule, Zero Three Six.
You should see us in three or four minutes. Over."
"We hear you, Hotel Alpha. Ready when you are.
Over."
Raising his rifle, Alex took up aim on the door of the left-hand of the two barracks-huts. Hut One.
0358. The pilot's voice again.
"Touch-down in two minutes, Zulu Three Six. Repeat, touch-down in two minutes."
"Everyone ready?" Alex whispered. It was unlikely that anyone had fallen asleep, but it had been known to happen.
They all heard it at the same time. At first it was just a pulse, distant and low. Could have been a heartbeat.
And then, with shocking suddenness, the lead Puma was racing towards them over the grey jungle
But the man kept on coming. Whatever it was that he intended the curved knife almost certainly had something to do with it it was going to make a lot of noise. There were going to be screams. So he was taking the woman into the bush where her evil-spirit howling wouldn't wake the camp up.
Twenty-five yards now, and Alex could hear the woman s terrified keening and the soldier's muttering as he forced her forward. If they tried to evade, to crawl sideways out of their way, the soldier would see them.
And if they stayed put... When it came to the moment, instinct took over.
Tripping the soldier with his rifle, avoiding the scything blade as both the man and the woman fell, Alex leapt on top of him. For a critical moment the soldier must have thought that a tree root was to blame for the confusion, and that the melee consisted only of himself and the woman, for he made no noise beyond an stifled curse. And then the butt of Alex's M16 met the back of his head with bone-smashing force, and he was still.
Ricky Sutton, meanwhile, had grabbed the woman.
Behind his hand she was still keening, the sound a tiny sustained ribbon of anguish. Deliberately, Sutton moved his face into a shaft of moonlight, so that she could see at a glance that despite the black cain-cream he was European, and urgently shushed her. Their eyes met his taut and pale, hers tear-rimmed and terrified and she nodded once. She was wearing a thin cotton dress and plastic sandals.
The soldier had to be dealt with and Alex had no choice but to do it in front of the woman. Lifting the unconscious man's head by the hair, he chopped inwards and dragged the blade of the Mauser knife hard through the front of his throat. There was a rushing wet heat from the jugular, a clicking gasp from the severed windpipe, and a brief shivering dance of the legs.
Within half a minute exsanguination was complete. The sticky blackness was everywhere Sutton, meanwhile, gagged the shocked, unresisting Woman with a sweat-rag. Wrists and ankles trussed with para cord she lay against a shallow incline behind them. Six feet away, the corpse of her late admirer stiffened in the cooling tar of his blood. The SAS officer and the trooper settled back to wait.
At 0350, Alex noticed a tiny shift in the quality of the darkness at the head of the Rokel valley to the east. If he looked a little to one side he could make out a ridge, a tree line, where previously there had been nothing.
The minutes passed, the cyclorama paled a further degree, and the misted, dew-charged vastness of the jungle began to reveal itself. There was nothing on earth, thought Alex, to beat the grandeur of the African dawn.
Not even the front at Clacton
He raised his binoculars. There was the command post there were the huts, there were the embers of the bonfire. And there everywhere were the sleeping soldiers and their weapons.
Quickly the men re-checked the sightings on their M16 203s. As well as a conventionally calibrated rifle-sights, which they had set to two hundred yards, their weapons had sextant-sights screwed to their carrying handles.
0355, and the pilot of Hotel Alpha, the lead Puma, was now audible on the patrol's UHF sets. His voice was relaxed.
"Coming in on schedule, Zero Three Six.
You should see us in three or four minutes. Over."
"We hear you, Hotel Alpha. Ready when you are.
Over."
Raising his rifle, Alex took up aim on the door of the left-hand of the two barracks-huts. Hut One.
0358. The pilot's voice again.
"Touch-down in two minutes, Zulu Three Six. Repeat, touch-down in two minutes."
"Everyone ready?" Alex whispered. It was unlikely that anyone had fallen asleep, but it had been known to happen.
They all heard it at the same time. At first it was just a pulse, distant and low. Could have been a heartbeat.
And then, with shocking suddenness, the lead Puma was racing towards them over the grey jungle
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