Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [100]
I picked up the rifle and slung it across my shoulder. Jo dropped down out of the tree and the three of us started back the way we had come. Would there be a pursuit? We had to factor that into the equation, but without their leader, would Chekov’s mob attempt it? Either way, we had a lot of ground to cover. The principle we always operated on was based on the SAS model: hit hard with overwhelming firepower and get out fast, outrun the opposing force and get far beyond any of the roadblocks they had set up.
I disassembled the Barrett on the run, pieces of it going into streams and simply being tossed away into the jungle as I went. It was a waste in some ways, but the equipment was expendable and we weren’t. With the thirty-five-pound weight of rifle gone, I became a hell of a lot lighter on my feet.
Down off the ridge, we hit a dirt road. In the bushes beside the road was the means of our rapid getaway. The battered little Honda motorcycle with the square sidecar attached was probably the number one form of transport throughout much of rural Asia. Sami and Jo, being Thai, were going to play at being locals. Because I was a white guy, I got the sidecar and the wide conical straw hat. With the hat pulled low over my head and by making myself as small as possible, I became the little woman.
We hauled the bike out of the bushes. I got in the sidecar while Jo and Sami debated who was going to drive. Jo ended up at the front. The bike kicked into life and we were away in a cloud of blue smoke. I have no idea what the bike was running on. Probably it was coconut oil. Whatever it was, it went and we started putting kilometres between the kill zone and us.
“Fuck!” Sami shouted and pointed. Above and ahead of us was a helicopter. Not just any helicopter, it was a huge, dust-coloured Russian Hinde. This was the flying version of a damn tank.
The giant bird of prey was nose down and coming at us straight down the road. It was fully armed. There were rocket pods bristling and a heavy machinegun was starting to chatter.
A long line of fountaining dirt swept towards us. Jo was hit. The bike swerved as the first rocket impacted on the road just yards in front of us. The blast lifted the bike and hurled it into the air. I twisted one way, Sami the other, while Jo’s body, torn in half by the machinegun fire, was buried by the falling motorcycle.
I hit the ground and tried to get up, but I couldn’t. I had no legs and no arms. I was just a torso with a head attached. I screamed, but no sound came. Sami was on his feet. He was staggering and the Hinde was coming towards him, flying lower and lower, its nose almost on the ground. That brought the giant rotors to within centimetres of the road.
Suddenly, Sami was no more. He was lost in a haze of bloody pulp. His upper body was gone. His torso remained standing for a moment as the Hinde settled down to land, and then it fell into the blood-soaked dirt.
The helicopter settled. The cargo door opened and out stepped Dimitri Chekov. He was untouched by bullet or fire. He was laughing. More than laughing, he was bellowing. His eyes were on me.
“Mr Swann, so pleased to see you again. I have a friend or two of yours here. You could say this is a reunion of sorts. Chekov reached back into the cargo hold and lifted something out. It was a head, a human head. It was the beautiful Babs. She was smiling at me.
“Hi, Dan. Remember me? We had so much fun together.”
“Go to your lover. Give him a kiss,” Chekov teased. He tossed the head of beautiful Barbara from Bristol into the dirt beside me. She was still smiling at me, her green eyes dancing.
“And another of your friends, Mr Swann.” Chekov was holding Geezer’s head out to me. Geezer was grimacing. Against the putrid blue-green colour of his flesh, his milky-white eyes found me.
“Dan, you’ve got to pick your friends better. You’ve been the death of me.”
Chekov tossed Geezer’s head towards me. It rolled to stop beside that of Babs.
Death of me. Geezer was right, of course, I had been the death of him, and of