Victor O'Reilly - The Devil's footprint

Immediately, the three Guntracks drove on board and the Combat Talon, with the ramp still open, took off and headed out of Tecuno-controlled airspace at contour-following height, electronic-warfare systems fully operational. Tecuno wavebands were a mass of activity, and they could hear jet fighters being vectored into the search area. Timing was critical. They would have more than eighty minutes' exposure before the fighter threat would be over.

Kilmara hated the abrupt departure with Fitzduane and the crew of Shadow One still on the ground, but every second spent in the area increased the chance of detection and his first priority was the safety of the aircraft and crew and passengers.

It was now up to the guts and ingenuity of Fitzduane and his remaining team on the ground, the flying skills of Eagle Friend, and a quite extraordinary device known as Skyhook or the Fulton Rescue System.

And there were also the moves of the enemy to consider.

Shadow One had been located, and the noose would be tightening by the second.

Fitzduane felt dazed and disoriented, and he could not see and he felt rising panic.

He fought for control. Where was he? What had happened? He put his hand to his face. It was wet and sticky. Shit! He was bleeding from a gash in his forehead. He staggered to his feet and splashed some water from his belt water-bottle on his face and washed the blood from his eyes.

He could see! The relief was intense. He could feel the rush of fear receding and his self-confidence reestablishing itself.

Shadow One lay on its side about twenty yards away. One track was missing and there was a huge hole in the rear engine compartment through which diesel was leaking. They had been hit but they had been lucky. Or had they? It was then that he noticed Lee Cochrane. He was bent over Al Lonsdale, who lay motionless on the ground.

Fitzduane began to remember what had happened. They had chewed up the advancing armored column with some success thanks to Dilger's Baby, night-vision equipment, and some seriously aggressive tactics. They then had disengaged. Shadow Three had headed on to the airstrip and Shadow One had made it to the Funnel.

He recalled the Guntrack roaring down the Funnel to where it narrowed, and then suddenly everything had gone blank.

Ahead of him he saw a Combat Talon climb into the night sky and then recede into the distance.

The sight was like a physical blow, and again there was that feeling of fear.

He went over to Cochrane. "How is he?" he said, looking at Lonsdale.

"Concussed, I think," said Cochrane. "I can't find any external wound." He held up something. "Here are your NVGs. They got ripped off when you screwed up your landing, Hugo."

Fitzduane started to raise his eyebrows in surprise, but they seemed to be stuck in place. Cochrane was in his element. This was a man who had found himself.

The goggles still worked. Fitzduane started to feel generally more optimistic. Half the Tecuno army might be on their tail, but at least he could find his way around and, truth to tell, their thermal viewers and passive night vision had given them an incredible edge over the opposition, so it was nice to hang on to some of the equipment. There was still some serious work to do.

He looked down the valley. In the distance, roughly halfway down the valley, he could see vehicles burning. Cochrane saw his look and grinned.

"The hostiles chased us into the Funnel," said Cochrane, "but I had a go with the. 50 Barrett after we got hit. It seems ridiculous that a rifle can take out an armored vehicle like a BMP-1, but there is the proof. An average of three rounds each at nearly a kilometer, and up they went. Thin armor, vulnerable fuel tanks, and armor-piercing incendiary make a lethal combination. Anyway, they pulled back and now seem to be regrouping. I guess they figure time is on their side. They put up some flares a few minutes ago, so they know our track is out. And where are we going on foot? There is nothing in every direction."

Fitzduane decided to ignore that last rather disconcerting remark and focus on the shooting. "Just so you know, Lee," he said. "Running a private war – just because Al and I were unconscious – is greedy."

Cochrane laughed out loud.

"Back to business," said Fitzduane. "Any contact with Eagle Friend?"

"Affirmative," said Cochrane.

He tapped the personal radio every member of the team carried for emergencies. It was low power and strictly line of sight, but it combined voice capability with a locator beam. "He's doing a run in any minute. He's contour flying to avoid SAMs, so voice contact is intermittent."

The Combat Talon was using the surrounding mountain range to shield it from SAMs – surface-to-air missiles – as it approached. The Talon had some useful offensive firepower, but its main defense lay in being extraordinarily hard to detect. Its electronic warfare black boxes made it effectively invisible to most radar. Nonetheless, line-of-sight triple-A – antiaircraft artillery – and SAMs could be a serious threat when it could be seen with the naked eye, so Talon pilots worked hard to remain invisible. In this context, a few mountains between them and hostiles were highly approved of.

Fitzduane unclipped an Ultimax from its mount and fitted a fresh hundred-round magazine. A pump-action grenade launcher went over his shoulder and more ammunition went into a rucksack. Then he joined Cochrane in carrying Al Lonsdale into a natural rock emplacement in the foothills.

It was a far-from-perfect location because there was no overhead cover, but there was nothing better immediately around and their plans depended on their moving up rather than out in the next few minutes. That meant they needed access to the sky.

Parachute flares exploded in the sky and the valley was lit up with white light. Backed up by field glasses, it was an old-fashioned solution for dealing with the visibility problem but effective nonetheless.

The wrecked Guntrack could be clearly seen. Fitzduane doubted that the Tecuno mercenaries could see them crouched down behind the rocks in camouflage with blackened faces, but common sense dictated their rough location.

There was a moaning sound and a salvo of mortar shells bracketed the wrecked vehicle, and blast after blast hurled metal splinters into the surrounding rocks. Half a dozen heavy machine guns joined in.

The parachute flares died out but the barrage continued, and Fitzduane knew it would only be a matter of time. They seemed to be up against some serious opposition, and the way the assault was being conducted suggested that the hostiles had recovered from their confusion.

He prayed that someone up high would come to their assistance very soon, or they would be up there themselves checkout out their new wings.

It was a prospect Fitzduane was willing to postpone. He decided he would try the direct approach.

"Eagle Friend," he said quietly and deliberately into his radio, "we have heavy incoming here, so hear me well. This is no time for subtlety. Knock off your coffee break and be kind enough to seriously fuck the bad guys. Do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Hugo," said the Bear, and there was a roar of engines as the Combat Talon popped up and tracked the valley, its two six-barrel. 50-caliber GECALs blazing.

Eight thousand rounds a minute – armor-piercing, high explosive, and tracer – into the broad end of the valley occupied by the mercenary task force.

Devastation. Slaughter. A scale of destruction it was hard to comprehend.

Explosion after explosion rent the air as armored vehicles blew up. The incoming mortar and APC rounds ceased.

Fitzduane and Cochrane peered between two rocks at the holocaust.

"Unbelievable," said Fitzduane in an awed voice.