Jet Read Free

the worst their attackers could throw at them and were still alive; and with their precious charge intact.
    The driver tapped the dashboard with a finger as thick as a cigar. “Something’s wrong. We’re losing power.”
    “Damn.” Claude’s brow furrowed as the driver waited for instruction. “Keep going. Let’s get some distance before we check the damage.”
    The driver nodded, and then the rear window blew out in a shower of glass as more rifle fire hit the Land Cruiser. Claude ducked down and was already firing out the ruined window. The SUV behind them slowed as rounds tore through the doors, and it careened off the track and crashed into a tree, leaving only the two remaining Hiluxes on the trail. Spent brass shell casings streamed from Claude’s weapon as he fired blindly into the underbrush, his face grim. The driver gunned the engine and the vehicle rounded another turn, leaving the gunfire behind.
    Claude’s eyes drifted to the speedometer, and then he leaned into the rear seat and retrieved one of the dead soldiers’ rifles, along with four full magazines. The driver redlined the tachometer, ignoring the danger that high speed on the treacherous trail presented, and pulled away from the two trucks, their four-cylinder engines no match for the Land Cruiser’s V-8.
    Two minutes later the SUV lurched to a stop in a clearing, and Claude leapt from the passenger side to survey the exterior of the vehicle. The driver joined him, and after a quick inspection of the underside of the bullet-ridden conveyance, they spotted a thin stream of fluid darkening the ground below. Claude kept watch, weapon in hand, as the driver slid in the mud beneath the SUV for a closer look. The Hiluxes rolled to a halt behind them, and Claude walked toward the trucks as the driver worked. He counted the soldiers at a glance: nine men remaining, plus the two drivers. They’d started off with thirty, and of the nine survivors, three were wounded.
    He listened for signs of pursuit but heard nothing from down the trail. He approached the first truck and held a hushed conversation with the driver, and then moved to the second and did the same.
    Upon his return, his eyes locked with his driver’s.
    “Well?” he asked.
    “Stray clipped one of the lines. I wrapped it with duct tape. Should hold for a few hours, but we’ll need a real repair sooner than later,” the driver said, his eyes roaming the surroundings as he spoke.
    Claude retrieved the radio and gave Henri the bad news. Henri’s response was immediate. “Transfer the cargo into one of the trucks. Toss a grenade into the disabled SUV so it can’t be used to follow you. Getting to the airstrip is still the top priority.”
    The crate barely fit behind the passenger seat of the lead Hilux, and as Claude climbed into the cab after brushing the remnants of the destroyed windshield from the seat, he wondered at the number of lives that had been lost to protect the seemingly insignificant container. The ferocity of the attack, as well as the number of shooters involved, had shocked him. He was accustomed to skirmishes with rebel forces in the area, but this had been more on the scale of an all-or-nothing battle.
    There was no question that information about their mission had been leaked.
    Now his only hope was that the attackers had expended all their efforts at the ambush point and didn’t have the means to hit again on the way to the airstrip. The likelihood was low – there were no roads nearby other than the laughable strip of brown stretching into the distance – but he couldn’t depend on the rebels’ ineptness. The attack had nearly succeeded, and the rocket-propelled grenades had almost turned the tide.
    He looked to the truck driver and grunted an order. The driver of the Land Cruiser lobbed a grenade into the interior of the SUV and scrambled into the truck bed. The Hiluxes were twenty yards away when the grenade detonated, sending what was left of the vehicle