Monday, June 26th, 2017
Desert Base, Mali
05:35 GMT+2 (03:35 GMT June 26th)
Sierra Echo
Rampart angled the helicopter towards the east side of the fort while Obsidian poured death upon the enemy with her machine guns.
Obsidian was angry and she blasted apart whatever came into her sights. Soldiers were shredded by the large calibre bullets and turned into corpses, long before the cadaver struck the ground. Rampart kept her speed up, so the helicopter was difficult to target from the ground, however, bullets still pinged off the aluminium body without causing much damage.
Then, amid the carnage came the fateful radio call.
The Parade Ground
05:35 GMT+2 (03:35 GMT June 26th)
At first, the two girls found themselves rooted to the spot, despite the battle going on all around them.
But then they were both galvanised into action as the armour-clad Stripe burst past yelling at the top of his voice. The boy had seen what had happened and he had been appalled.
"Medivac!" he yelled as he pressed the button for his radio. "We need a medivac; Spark is down, hard . . . repeat, Spark is down!"
As Stripe and then Kick-Ass and Intrepid provided covering fire, Olivia stopped simply staring down at the fallen girl, figuring that maybe a coroner might be better than a medic at that point, and she snapped into action. Nonetheless, as her training swiftly took over, and ignoring the raging battle all around her, Olivia fell to her knees beside Amber and she pushed two fingers into the sweaty, bloody skin at the base of the girl's skull, searching for a pulse . . . 'Where was it?' she thought. Part of her replied, 'Why do you care?'
"I've got a pulse!" Olivia suddenly exclaimed as she felt tears flooding down her cheeks and she realised that she did care. "WE NEED A GODDAMN MEDIC!"
Intrepid noticed Scarlett amongst the emerging prisoners and as she gunned down the closest soldiers, she grabbed the girl and pushed her down beside the fallen Amber. La Terreaur ran up and she threw a medic's field pack at Scarlett before she ran off in search of the French bastard, François. With Olivia motivating Scarlett, the pair of them pulled out multiple field dressings, and applied them to where the bullets had struck and where the bullets had exited Spark's body. Scarlett ignored the tears which ran down her face. She ignored the fear she felt, and she ignored the bullets which flew left and right. Everyone had heard the radio call and they knew that they had wounded.
That same thought just made everyone fight harder than ever as they pushed the enemy back and moved to free the prisoners.
The Officer's Quarters
05:36 GMT+2 (03:36 GMT June 26th)
Patrick, Jamie, Jake, and Tommy had been housed alone overnight.
Jamie had been the youngest and despite his Predator training, there had been moments of intense despair and he had felt ashamed when he had cried in the darkness. Jake and Tommy were there to keep the boy company and provide support. Jamie missed his big sister and his family, and he was scared that he might never see any of them again.
Jake was just as worried, and he knew that Cassie was down below, suffering. The boy was stoic about his situation but that did not prevent him worrying, just like Jamie. He missed his sisters – that surprised him – and he missed Charlie. He was in a lot pf pain, just like Jamie, but he was doing his best to tolerate that pain just as he had been trained all those years before.
Tommy had a different view to the other two boys, thanks to his Russian upbringing. He easily understood the language and the mood. He could survive, just as well as any Predator. Sometimes, Tommy felt greatly annoyed when he considered the Predators and what they had endured and how they sometimes complained about that life. In his mind, they had had it easy; he had had to learn and survive using his wits alone. There had been no training curriculum, just pain and the need to survive against the odds. Tommy had killed to get to where he could escape; a past that haunted him, but one which he felt put him above the average stuck up Predator.
Patrick was in a dark place, both figuratively and actually. It had been his fault that they had been cornered and then captured. Everything had replayed through his mind, time and time again, but with the same outcome. He had been in charge, so the buck had stopped with him, no matter what else had occurred or how things had turned against him and his team. He had let everyone down, and he hated himself for it. He could hear the fighting outside, but he could see nothing. He wanted to help – he needed to help. He felt so much anger and he needed to dish it out.
All four jumped to their feet as the two guards standing guard moved over to the door which led out to the steps down to the parade ground and up to the battlements. Someone, amidst all the shooting and shouting, had knocked! One of the soldiers cagily pulled open the door, only for his body to brace up as several inches of shiny Katana emerged from his back. His assault rifle clattered to the wooden floor and his colleague darted forward, even as the first soldier fell to the floor in agony, clawing at the blade. As Wildcat yanked at her Katana blade, Rigour pushed past, firing two bullets from her pistol into the chest of the still-standing soldier. Termino then appeared, two Russian assault rifles in his hands and a bag of AK magazines over his shoulder.
"Grab a weapon, guys!" he ordered.
Nobody hesitated as they grabbed a rifle from Termino or the now dead soldiers, and three magazines each.
The Parade Ground
05:38 GMT+2 (03:38 GMT June 26th)
There was not a stretcher in sight, so a body bag would have to do as it was all that they had to carry her – they just left it unzipped.
Stripe and Olivia lugged the deadweight of the dying girl over the fallen sandstone and out of the firefight with Scarlett alongside. Kick-Ass and Intrepid provided covering fire. An unexpected burst of gunfire from above heralded the arrival of the male prisoners to raucous cheering as many soldiers fell to the pissed off ex-prisoners. The female ex-prisoners were also sweeping up fallen weapons and joining the fight, instantly doubling the number the Russians were fighting.
Rampart brought the helicopter in as close to the firefight as she could with Obsidian providing an almost constant stream of gunfire over the heads of those lugging the wounded girl. The pilot grimaced behind her darkened visor as she saw the blood-soaked vigilante being manhandled towards her. It took every skill she had to keep the helicopter in position, just two feet above the ground. Bullets whizzed past in all directions, but Rampart blocked it all out, concentrating on her straining, overheating engines and rapidly diminishing fuel reserves. At one point, she screamed out as something nicked her left arm but there was no time to see if she was wounded, as the body bag was shoved into the back of the helicopter. As soon as all were aboard, and at a signal from Obsidian, Rampart twisted the throttle and she pulled up on the collective, all while pushing forward on the cyclic, dipping the nose of the helicopter and increasing forward speed.
Rampart turned on a heading due west, towards a desert airstrip and an urgent medivac flight to safety.
The Barracks
05:43 GMT+2 (03:38 GMT June 26th)
As the helicopter lifted off and the clattering of the rotor blades was replaced by the sound of gunfire, the young girl, huddling in a cupboard at the back of the former barracks dug deep for some courage, knowing that she could not stay there for ever if she wanted to gain freedom from her oppressor.
Gingerly, she pushed open the wooden door, fearfully gazing the length of the barracks, searching for danger. She could smell the dead before she could see them. The bodies had released various bodily fluids as they had died, and the room stank to high heaven even worse than it had done overnight from the sweaty bodies and the overflowing latrine. Her body shook as she took a first tentative step out of the cupboard and slowly, cautiously made her way towards the sounds of battle. She had to find one of the prisoners – they might help her; at least that was her fervent hope. She did not think that she could survive much longer with the Russian colonel. He treated her like she was worthless and had done for about eleven months, ever since she had been wrenched away from her life with her grandmother who had been brutally murdered that very same night.
Her descent into brutal slavery had been swift and shocking for the young girl, and she had been privy to many horrible sights, including the torture and blackmail of her own sister – not that she had escaped the torture. She still wore the very same clothing she had been wearing on the day she had been kidnapped, although it was mostly torn and rotted from too long in her new jungle home. She was only allowed to wash – in cold water – once every 10 days or so . . . assuming she had been well behaved, of course. Her body had shrunk, making her clothes appear baggy – that was due to the lack of food. The lure of food had been used to persuade the youngster to cooperate and it had been a lure which was hard to resist for a young growing girl. She had felt weak, capitulating so early on to the Russian, but the very sight of her sister being hurt and hearing her screams had been all it had taken to toe the line and follow orders.
Pain was just a part of her life, as was witnessing horrible things such as dead bodies, blood, and human misery. As she took a wide berth around the three dead corpses which had once been Russian soldiers, she grimaced, but did not baulk at the sight – she had long ago grown used to such things; it had become a necessity not to lose what precious food and water she had been allowed to ingest. She was no longer the fun-loving little girl who had once lived with her grandmother, instead, she was a young girl hardened against the very worst which the world could offer. That made her capable of doing things which just over a year previously would never have even crossed her young mind and which would have scared her half to death.
As she reached the door leading out onto the parade ground, she stopped at the sight of people fighting, and she smiled as she laid eyes on someone fighting just a few yards away. She turned back into the barracks and she knelt down beside the first corpse, where she pulled out the man's combat knife. She moved over to the second corpse and she did the same, before moving over to the third corpse and she ultimately stood back up, holding three combat knives. One went into the belt at the back of her trousers. While the remaining pair were held, point down, in each clenched fist. Returning to the doorway, she ran forward before she jumped into the air, a look of extreme triumph on her face as she landed on the back of a man whom she hated more than anything, and who was fighting one of the people who had attacked the fort that morning.
With all the strength she could muster, she plunged both eight-inch blades into the back of the man.
..._...
La Terreaur was fighting François Boucher.
His nom de guerre, Sauvage, suited the bastard perfectly, she thought as she battled with the giant animal. He was massive and very strong, but the young girl, and her partner, Psyche, were not doing much more than chipping away at the brute. But then, out of the blue, the beast braced up and he howled in agony. Neither Psyche nor La Terreaur could understand why but then the man turned slightly, and they could both see a girl on his back. The girl was gripping onto what appeared to be the hilts of two knives, but then she released one hand and she sank a third blade into the bastard's neck where it joined his body. The evil man bellowed, and he tried to reach behind his back for whatever was causing him so much pain. But he could not reach the hilt of either blade, but he knew that someone was there. The violent movements of the dying man caused the girl to lose her grip and she was thrown bodily onto the parade ground, landing in a heap against the front wheel of one of the LSVs.
François fell to his knees, his body weakening fast as his hands scrabbled for the knives which were quite literally killing him. He was losing blood by the pint and his vision was beginning to close in on him. The euphemism: 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall' was very apt as the monster crashed to the sand, landing on his side. He did not have long left on earth as a living creature – few would refer to him as being human – and just before his brain starved of oxygen, La Terreaur got in a few last words.
"Vous êtes un traître à la république!" she hissed, and she smiled as she saw the words sink in.
Those words hurt François Boucher more than La Terreaur could have ever known, and the words hit home like no others could. François Boucher loved his country, and to be called a traitor to the France he loved was unbearable. Even worse, as his life ebbed away, he knew deep down that what the girl had said was very true and he muttered his last, even as his consciousness blinked out for ever.
"Vive la France!"
..._...
Psyche stepped over to the fallen girl.
The girl shrank back, away from Psyche, suddenly unsure. Psyche could see the concern on the young girl's face, as well as the fear. It had to have taken a lot of guts to do what she did, and probably a lot of pent up hatred, Psyche figured. Psyche could also relate, guessing that the girl had suffered under François. However, an early morning battle was not the place for sentiments.
"Come with me if you want to live," Psyche said, holding out a hand.
"Oh, God!" La Terreaur groaned as Hit Girl appeared. "She thinks she's the fucking Terminator!"
"We all have moments where we think we're a Cyberdyne Systems Series 800 Model 101," Hit Girl grinned as she shot down a soldier making for Psyche.
"Believe me, her heart's just as cold," Kick-Ass laughed as he ran past with Stripe and Intrepid. "She's just as unstoppable, too."
"I'm surrounded by nutcases," La Terreaur moaned.
The girl grinned and she grasped hold of Psyche's outstretched, gloved hand.
"Phoenix, Psyche – we are one up; I'm calling her Starla."
"Copy that, Psyche," Hal responded from far to the southwest.
Psyche took the girl away from the battle with La Terreaur in support.
Eight kilometres to the north...
05:43 GMT+2 (03:38 GMT June 26th)
Sierra Echo
The helicopter was coming down towards a desert airstrip in the middle of nowhere – which was the plan.
"We have inbound traffic at two-o'clock," Obsidian warned her pilot.
"That's our medivac flight," Rampart responded.
The large propeller-driven aircraft with four propellers was coming in straight and steady, the undercarriage lowering as Obsidian watched. Then, in a cloud of sand, the 28,000-kilogramme turboprop transport aircraft settled onto the airstrip and rapidly decelerated. Before all velocity was gone, the aircraft continued on to the end of the airstrip before it turned one-eighty-degrees and stopped dead.
Rampart brought the helicopter down twenty yards from the tail ramp of the Antonov which was even then lowering to the ground. A woman in civilian clothes ran out to meet Olivia and Obsidian who were lugging the body bag bearing the bloody body of Amber. Ajax frowned at the woman, not recognising her, but she did recognise the man standing at the aft ramp of the Antonov known as MAD MAUVE. Hank Dewhurst waved and Olivia relaxed.
"I'm Jeanne Benoit - Médecins Sans Frontières; I'm a doctor and a friend of that pirate in the plane."
Olivia nodded as Jeanne took a hold of the body bag in place of Olivia who was struggling with Amber's deadweight.
Thirty minutes later...
Two kilometres south of the airstrip
06:13 GMT+2 (04:13 GMT June 26th)
LSV Bravo Three
Hit Girl was driving fast – as if she drove at any other speed!
She was carrying a human cargo destined for a flight to safety. Aboard were Cassie, Jake, Abigail, and a quiet young girl who had not spoken a word since she had been taken to safety by Psyche. The Antonov would not take off until they arrived, but there was no immediate rush as Amber needed to be stabilised before the Antonov could take off for the flight to Modibo International Airport in Bamako.
"What's that?" Cassie suddenly shouted as she pointed to their left.
Hit Girl looked over and she saw a cloud of sand moving in their direction – they were about to come under attack.
"Mad Mauve, start your engines; attack inbound!" Hit Girl radioed before she switched frequencies. "Papa Mike, we need a Reaper, over!"
"Copy, Sierra Bravo Six, Reaper inbound," came the smart response from RAF Waddington.
Hit Girl put her foot down and rapidly closed the distance to the airstrip.
Fifteen thousand feet
above the airstrip
06:18 GMT+2 (04:18 GMT June 26th)
Reaper Two-Four
The Royal Air Force General Atomics MQ-9A Reaper drone easily tracked the three-vehicle convoy driving across the desert.
The convoy was made up of three light-skinned army trucks and was two kilometres out from the airstrip when the UAV pilot locked his laser designator onto the lead vehicle in the convoy. He then triggered off first one, and then the second of his two GBU-12 Paveway II 500-Ib laser-guided bombs. Each bomb was over 3.2-metres in length and generally struck within one metre of where the laser beam was pointed. In this case, after a freefall of a little over thirty seconds, the first weapon struck the first truck in the convoy, right on the nose, literally, and the vehicle was blasted apart. The second truck careered into the wreckage of the first, while the third was struck by the second GBU-12 Paveway II when the laser had been moved fractionally after the first bomb had struck.
"Three targets destroyed, Sierra Bravo Six."
With that, the weapon-less UAV turned away from the airstrip to continue its patrol until another hour passed and it was forced to make for the airbase at Gibraltar.
The Airstrip
06:28 GMT+2 (04:28 GMT June 26th)
Hit Girl waved as the large transport began to thunder down the sand airstrip under the power of its four Ivchenko AI-20L turboprop engines.
Close to the far end of the airstrip, the nose of the Antonov lifted and the transport made a rather smoky take-off, clawing into the Malian air. Hit Girl watched as the aircraft turned onto a south-westerly heading before she put the LSV into gear and then turned south, making for the abandoned fort, still watching the aircraft as it carried its valuable cargo to safety.
Nobody had died – well, nobody that mattered, at least – and Hit Girl hoped to keep it that way.
Aboard Antonov An-12 'Mad Mauve'
06:42 GMT+2 (04:42 GMT June 26th)
Amber lay on a stack of blankets.
Jeanne, the doctor, had inserted an endotracheal tube, which was intubating the unconscious Amber and keeping her airway open. Olivia sat beside Amber's head, keeping an eye on an IV tube and a plastic bag of clear plasma which dangled from the aircraft cabin's ceiling, the other end of which entered a vein in Amber's left arm. It was essential to keep the wounded girl hydrated and to expand what blood she still had left in her system, all while gently squeezing an ambu bag which forced air into Amber's good right lung. Jeanne had seen many wounds – most severe – many of which had been caused by war. She had also seen children wounded badly as well, so the sight of Amber and the other injured youngsters was not shocking to her. She knew that if Hank was involved then it was something super-secret but also something super-important.
Once Amber was stable, there was nothing much more which could be done until they arrived somewhere with much better medical facilities and preferably an operating theatre. Next, Jeanne turned to a young girl, Abigail, who had been badly burnt on her thigh. Some ointment helped to ease the pain, but the girl would be scarred for life, Jeanne knew, as would the others who all bore painful injuries which Jeanne treated as best as she could with the limited medical supplies which she had brought with her. It was not an easy task but after an hour of hard graft all of the girls and the one boy were treated.
Sitting on her own, the young girl just stared at the aluminium floor of the transport aircraft. Her mind was still reeling with her change of fortune. There was also the images of the man whom she had killed. The doctor had looked her over, but despite minor malnutrition, the girl was physically okay, just very tired. Before long, the gentle droning of the four turboprops put the girl to sleep and for the first time in a year, she slept without a single nightmare.
Jake lay on a thick pile of blankets next to Abigail. His wounds hurt, but the medical attention had helped soothe them, just a bit. Seated above him, in a collapsible seat, Cassie was dozing. Jake was worried about her and he had done his utmost not to see her tears as a soothing cream had been gently rubbed into her wounds. The boy missed having his best friend there – instead, he simply put up with listening to Abigail's habitual whining. He also knew that the flight would take an hour and fifty minutes.
It was to be the longest flight of his life.
Sixteen kilometres north
of Desert Base
06:45 GMT+2 (04:45 GMT June 26th)
Sierra Echo
Rampart and Obsidian were about eight kilometres away from the landing strip, keeping an eye on Mindy, two thousand feet below them, when suddenly both looked up as something began to grind and groan above them in a very disconcerting manner, then came a loud bang followed by blissful silence as the gearbox seized solid.
"Shit!" Rampart exclaimed as she swiftly shoved the collective to the floor and brought the cyclic backwards to flare the helicopter, bringing the nose up.
At the same time, she stomped on the right pedal to prevent the helicopter from spinning. The young pilot's mind went into overdrive knowing full that if either one of them were to survive the next few minutes she could not make a single mistake. Autorotation was not an exact science by any means as you traded height for rotor RPM and trusted in gravity. The helicopter became an aluminium brick, admittedly a brick with minimal flying capability, but still a brick, not quite plummeting downwards with only the windmill effect of the negative pitch rotor disk which had been automatically disengaged from the engine via a clutch, preventing them from plummeting out of control.
Beside Rampart, Obsidian was all but crapping herself as the helicopter plunged out of the desert sky. She said nothing to distract Rampart who was working the cyclic and collective, and simply pulled her seatbelt tighter. She knew what was going on, but it scared her, and she knew that only by luck and the grace of God would they survive. Obsidian also knew that Rampart was an expert, if young and inexperienced, pilot. That on its own gave Obsidian hope for survival. But as the desert sands came closer and closer, the relative silence unnerved the girl and she felt herself shaking.
Then, as the helicopter closed the ground with a high rate of descent and a high forward speed, Rampart had to cancel both out to avoid a nasty high energy impact with the desert which while spectacular was not overly desired. Rampart waited until they were about fifty feet over the desert before she pulled back on the cyclic and she yanked up on the collective. The helicopter slowed rapidly, but not as quickly as it normally would under powered flight. At around a hundred feet, Rampart issued the command Obsidian was dreading.
"Brace! Brace! Brace!"
As they passed through ten feet of altitude, the helicopter was still moving forward at fifteen knots with a descent rate of a little over eighty feet per minute. Then, with an almighty thump, the helicopter struck the sand and the skids collapsed beneath the helicopter which rapidly slid to a halt, the nose buried in sand.
Very quickly, silence descended over the crash scene.
Desert Base
06:45 GMT+2 (04:45 GMT June 26th)
The Strike Teams
It was over.
The sound of fighting had faded into the early morning sun and the victors had felt intense relief sweep over them. It was a moment for reflection as the strike teams safed their weapons and began to evacuate the fort which had been both their refuge and a location for torture. Nobody wanted to hang about, so equipment was gathered, the vehicles were loaded and fuelled, and injuries were treated, all under the guidance of Dave and Patrick. There were a lot of changes when it came to the vehicles as there were a few people missing.
Two of the Toyota Landcruiser 4x4s, Alpha Two and Alpha Three, were to be abandoned and Dave had driven the vehicles out of the fort before he then ensured that each vehicle was then torched.
Sixteen kilometres north
of Desert Base
06:52 GMT+2 (04:45 GMT June 26th)
Sierra Echo
Rampart reached over to shut off the electrics and fuel systems as she unbuckled from her seat.
"You okay, bitch?" Obsidian asked as she too unbuckled.
"Yes, thanks, bitch!" Rampart grinned back as she climbed out of her seat.
Swiftly, both girls ran away from the helicopter just in case it should explode. They both then sagged down onto the sand a good twenty yards away, savouring the chance to lie down and rest for the first time in at least three hours.
"Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing in my book," Rampart commented dryly as she lay on the sand and stared up at the stunningly beautiful sky above.
"Any chance it'll fly again?" Obsidian asked conversationally.
The two girls looked back at the helicopter. There was a short groaning noise and then the tail boom separated from the main fuselage of the flying machine, dropping to the sand below with a thump.
"No," Rampart replied. "I don't think so."
Both girls then burst out laughing, just as a vehicle pulled up. Hit Girl climbed out and she stared over at the two-pieces of the helicopter for a full minute before she then glared down at the two girls.
Rampart glared back at Hit Girl for several moments before Hit Girl then grinned and opened her mouth to speak.
"One word," Rampart growled dangerously. "One fucking word."
Hit Girl raised her hands, palms outwards, and she stepped away from Rampart and Obsidian without saying a fucking word.
Desert Base
07:32 GMT+2 (05:32 GMT June 26th)
The Strike Teams
During the evacuation operation, Mindy returned with Willow and Freya, her LSV sliding to a halt beside Dave's giant truck.
Mindy climbed out to survey the situation, an MPX-K assault rifle held in her right hand. The old abandoned fort was in a sorry state: smoke billowed from several points and a lot of the stonework was shattered. All around, bodies lay scattered amongst the sand and the stone blocks. Mindy was pleased to see that none of her own lay dead on the ground. However, she could see the haunted looks on the faces of those who had been held captive and those who were injured. The worst of the injured had been taken to the MAD MAUVE for medivac back to THE PHOENIX, but many were left. Indeed, Chloe had refused point blank when it had been suggested that she should be taken to safety – not when her man was still out there, even if he was safe. Mindy came across Abby as the tech nerd pulled on her body armour and weapons.
"Hi, Abby," Mindy said as she helped the girl adjust her gear.
"Hi, Mindy," Abby replied, her face filled with pain as she winced with every movement.
"You should have gone on the medivac," Mindy stated.
"Probably," Abby responded. "But I needed to stay and help."
"Thanks, Abby. Take Alpha One with Jamie."
"The cunts missed my laptop," Abby grinned. "I managed to bury it under a rock, and they missed it."
"And you never gave it up – you're amazing, Abby."
Mindy left Abby with a big grin on the girl's face as she moved onto Marinette and Lucy who sat together.
"Mindy," Marinette said with a forced grin.
Mindy winced at the bruising around Marinette's eyes which matched those Abby had been sporting. Marinette saw that, and she chuckled.
"Believe me, Mindy, the bad bruises are in places only my Adrien sees."
Mindy was horrified at that thought and she forced a chuckle, moving over to where her husband, daughter, and son stood with Charlotte and Owen.
"Hi, Mum!" Stephanie announced. "They get off okay?"
"With the help of a couple of laser guided bombs, yes," Mindy replied. "Cassie's safe, Charlie."
"Thanks, Mindy," Charlotte said.
"The bastard got away," Dave growled.
"What!" Mindy exclaimed.
"Mathilda and Ruth are tracking two vehicles heading south with the surviving soldiers as well as Priabin and his sidekick who escaped at the end of the fighting," Dave explained.
"I want that bastard; I want to fucking gut him!" Mindy growled menacingly. "If he escapes..."
"Mum, we know what he did to you and Dad and the others," Jamie said. "We will get that man."
"Let's get after him," Mindy said. "Mount up and we can get after them.
It only took another ten minutes to clear the last of their equipment, destroy what was left of their fuel and supplies, and then mount up on their vehicles.
The Sahara Desert
Northern Mali
08:10 GMT+2 (06:10 GMT June 26th)
The Strike Teams
Patrick had taken control of the LSV, Bravo Four, which Joshua had previously been in command of, with Megan, Curtis, and Stephanie.
Mindy had her LSV, Bravo Three, with Charlotte, Craig, and Owen. Lucy drove her LSV, Alpha Five, with Dakota and Tommy. Chloe had insisted on driving her own LSV, Alpha Four, despite her injuries, with Marinette and Scarlett. Abby was insistent on driving, so she was given the comfort of a Toyota Landcruiser, Alpha Two, with Jamie to keep her company and to provide protection. They were both joined by the two grounded aircrew: Willow and Freya. That just left Dave in his gigantic Mercedes G 63 AMG 6x6 truck, Bravo One, with Electra and Yvette to keep him company – or just to drive him round the bend!
The six-vehicle convoy headed south over the sands under the raging heat of the Saharan sun. It was getting hot and it would continue to get hot as the sun marched unrelentingly across the perfect sky without a cloud in sight. The mounting heat had everybody complaining, either verbally, or just by being vindictive. Everyone was also very tired and keen for their escapades in the desert to come to an end so that they could return to civilisation and air conditioning. As she sat in the back seat of Bravo Four, Stephanie could feel sand in between her toes and in parts of her body she did not generally talk about in public. She felt sweaty in every place, including the unmentionable regions, and she detested the feeling of being unwashed.
"You know what I want, right now?" Stephanie asked Megan who was standing up in the turret ring.
"Tommy?" Megan grinned back.
"No!" came the snarky response. "I want to plunge into some ice-cold water – that would be so awesome."
"Not a bad idea," Megan agreed.
The convoy had travelled about thirty kilometres in a roundabout route, approaching the enemy from the east in a flanking manoeuvre, when they received an urgent call over the radio.
"All Sierra units: stop, stop, stop!"
Instantly, all six vehicles slammed on their brakes in the lee of a giant sand dune which grew up beside the flatter scrubland over which they had been travelling.
The Sahara Desert
Northern Mali
08:42 GMT+2 (06:42 GMT June 26th)
Bravo Two
Four kilometres ahead of the combined strike teams, Mathilda and Ruth were lying in that same scrubland which ran alongside the sands of the Sahara Desert, hidden from view beneath ghillie suits and all but invisible to anyone scanning the area for danger.
The pair had been following the convoy of Russians for almost two hours. After the old abandoned fort had fallen, the sniper pair had remained at large watching everything which was going on. The two vehicles, a UAZ-3163 SUV and a Ural-5323 8x8 truck, had raced out of the fort and rapidly headed off into the desert. Once Mathilda had been certain their friends were safe, the pair of them had returned to their Toyota Landcruiser 4x4 and then raced forward to a position from where they could watch the escaping vehicles. Every twenty minutes or so, they would leapfrog ahead. Then, after about ninety minutes of crawling through hot sand to spy on the fleeing enemy, the enemy had stopped in a clearing between two giant sand dunes which was hidden from view. For ten minutes, the pair of them had lain in the hot sand, studying the enemy from three hundred yards away through powerful binoculars. For young Ruth, the keeping still bit was not all that easy – keeping still for any Predator was more of a chore than a skill – however Predators were experts at taking a task put before them and seeing it through to the end, even if they did not have the required skills.
Ruth was determined to show Mathilda – and her friends – that she could be a key member of Fusion. She loved what she was doing, and she really enjoyed the time she had spent with Mathilda. Her wounded left shoulder still throbbed from the wound and that kept her awake despite the high temperatures. When she wasn't gazing through her binoculars, she gazed at her immediate surroundings. Every now and then, a small scorpion would scuttle across her field of view – she hated the damn things, especially the leiurus quinquestriatus or deathstalker which was a species that was very dangerous to humans, especially young girls, despite its tiny size of just a few centimetres in length. Then, Ruth suddenly found something else other than poisonous arachnids to focus her binoculars on.
"Oh, shit!" she groaned as her ears identified the sound of spinning rotors. Then her eyes found the object coming into sight from behind a giant sand dune. "Oh, fucking shit! Oh, motherfucking shit!"
"We have a problem," Mathilda agreed as she watched the giant attack helicopter come in to land.
"We have a bitch-slapping motherfucker of a problem!" Ruth corrected as two more of the monsters came into view and rendezvoused with the escaping Russians.
Ruth looked on in horror at the sight before her as the side door of the first helicopter opened and eight heavily armed soldiers jumped down onto the sand. Those soldiers rapidly moved to secure the landing site and protect the two vehicles which had just arrived.
Mathilda triggered her radio: "All Sierra units: stop, stop, stop!"
Ruth and Mathilda could both recognise an ambush and it was obvious that the Russian colonel was intending on surprising Mindy with his attack helicopters and regaining the upper hand.