Chapter 24

In the fast-fading light, Darya sat motionless in her hideout among the grey-black rocks high above the camp, but just under the skyline. Dressed in her grey, blue, and black camo fatigues, she blended in perfectly with the surrounding rocks.

The rocks themselves were rounded through millennia of sandblasting by the desert sand grains; not perfectly rounded but abraded to a state where they had no sharp edges. This suited Darya, as her small frame blended with the rocks. One would only see her by using an infra-red scope. Her body heat may reveal the human body shape among the rocks. But then again, you would need to know she was there; else why would anyone look for her?

The Barrett MRAD .338 Norma Magnum was itself draped with the same kind of camo cloth material that Darya’s uniform was made of, completely disguising the shape of the rifle. The rifle scope had a large tube-like attachment to the front optic, extending out for five centimetres. No sunlight would reflect off the optics.

Darya was in deep shadow. A tarpaulin of the same camo material was draped in such a way that it resembled the rocks surrounding her. For hours, she lay there, not moving; her breathing slow and rhythmic, her eyes alive and searching. This was the habitat she was used to, like Tajikistan: dry and rock-strewn, but she pushed thoughts of her war-torn homeland to the back of her mind. She felt at home here in the desert.

The only love she ever experienced was that of her mother and father, bless their souls, before she lost them both to the war when she was sixteen.

She was happy to be “rescued” by Mai-Loan and the Angels. Her new home at the farm near Brits, South Africa, was peaceful and laid-back. There she could learn to become a girl or a woman. Now, she started to unwind and feel wanted by the group out on the farm. Dave’s parents were also good to her and made her feel welcome; well, all of them, all the Angels were made to feel welcome. Darya knew that now she was short of nothing. Maybe ... only someone to cuddle with, but that is not essential or a requirement.

From the west she saw the group of figures approaching, walking and staggering in the clinging desert sand. She smiled a soft smile. Moving with a slow and irregular calculated movement, Darya trained her rifle scope on the group. She had no spotter with her. She was all alone there among the rocks. The rest of her group of TC Rangers were dispersed lower and to the west along the dune itself.

She watched as the group stopped, then advanced again. Then they split, some moving around to the far dune on the south side. One guy had a Dragunov sniping rifle with him. That one needed to be watched. Three men came towards the camp, taking the L-shaped alley to the west of the camp.

“Boomer, three bogies on your three o’clock. Approaching you on, three ... two ... one.” Darya said into the radio microphone attached to her headset. Boomer did not call back or acknowledge. This was the normal mode of operation, but she knew Boomer was listening.

Confirmation came as she saw Boomer, and his three sidekicks get up and apprehend the three bogies from behind. She watched the rest of the bogies as they started up the south dune, taking note of where each was, and where they went down in prone positions. Open, with no cover. Lazy imbeciles ... nice targets.

Then she refocussed on Boomer, and his group as they entered the camp. She watched with both eyes open; one sighting through the scope, the other seeing the rest of the picture. This is how she was trained; this is how she works. Both eyes open. Observing. Constantly calculating distance, bullet drop over distance, wind direction and speed, and target movement.

One bearded guy suddenly strode forward and grabbed Angie by the arm. Darya had the crosshairs of the scope on his chest.

Angie struggled to get free and tried to move back and away from mister beard, ducking low in the process. This was Darya’s chance. She needed less. Now to take the shot.

Seeing her opening, she made a slight adjustment of the rifle by lifting the crosshairs up onto the left temple of mister beard. She breathed in holding her breath, first pressure on the trigger, and she kept increasing the pressure with trained precision.

The Barrett MRAD recoiled back into Darya’s shoulder. The force of the impact on her shoulder was dampened by the thick leather shoulder pad and the shock-absorbing stock of the rifle. She exhaled and worked the bolt of the rifle. The spent .416 Rigby cartridge casing clattered down, emitting a clear high brass bell ringing sound among the rocks.

Through the scope, she saw mister beard’s head disappear in a cloud of red mist. Instantly she drew her scope to the south dune and trained the crosshairs onto the guy with the Dragunov. He was sighting the weapon, half sitting on one knee. Again, Darya drew a breath and held it.

Just as the Dragunov recoiled in the guy’s hands, Darya’s Barrett MRAD fired. The projectile raced away at nearly twice the speed of sound, the target only 350 meters away.

Darya exhaled, again instinctively working the bolt of the rifle, and the second .416 Rigby cartridge casing clattered down on the rocks beneath. Darya sighted on her next target.

“Like picking fruit out of a basket!” Darya said softly and surprised herself that she spoke English spontaneously, instead of her native Tajik. Smiling, she worked the bolt again, repeating the procedure, and another one out on the south dune bit the dust.

Jürgen looked down on the camp. He saw the group enter and walk up to the fire. Then there must have been a discussion of some sort. Through his Dragunov SVG scope, he saw to his astonishment the red-headed girl, alive and well, and Günter approaching her.

Günter grabbed the girl by the arm and tried to pull her towards him. She resisted and pulled back. Then something funny happened. Günter’s head disappeared, and he fell back. The girl ran. At that moment, a thunderclap sounded from across at the rocks on the other side of the camp. Jürgen will deal with that later. He looked at the running girl.

Okay, she will not get away. Max will be pleased. Jürgen moved the crosshairs of the scope onto the girl as she ran.

“Oh, I love a moving target!” Jürgen said as he placed the crosshairs on Angie’s back. Jürgen pulled the trigger. Not the trained and correct way of firing a firearm, and the 7.62-millimetre Dragunov recoiled into his shoulder. Through the scope, he saw the girl stagger. He lined up for a second shot.

He never did fire the second round. Someone smashed a rock on his head. Suddenly the image of the running girl was gone. He would never know that the “rock” was not so big or that it came from a .338 Norma Magnum...

As Günter’s body slid down the side of the tent, Max was frozen for a moment. He did not understand what was happening. Then he heard the rifle report, intermixed with Angie’s high-pitched scream, which disorientated him completely.

The fright of Günter being shot this close to her made Angie run. She had to get away from here. Safety lay in distance, and she ran straight out to the beach, where the rubber duck was drawn out of the water. She only saw the rubber duck before her eyes. The only thought was to get to the rubber duck and away from Max.

With burning lungs she pressed on, running flat out as fast as her legs could carry her. Something hit her on the right side, sending sharp burning and blinding pain through her body and nearly spun her around, but she regained her balance for a moment before she stumbled. Her right leg was not doing what her brain commanded it to do. Then her left leg wanted to go no more. A red mist began to form in front of her eyes, and the rubber duck took on a pink tint.

Every breath she took burned down her throat and in her lungs. She could not breathe anymore. Then she stumbled again and fell, her head connecting hard with the sand.

At first, her side felt numb, then the dull pain came, and the throbbing started to take hold of her small frame.

“Ash, help me...” She whisper-cried softly as her face lay on the sand. It felt so peaceful on the lukewarm white sand ... Angie stretched her right hand out in front of her in the sand, trying to reach the rubber duck, trying to will it to come to her. The red-tinted rubber duck faded into blackness. She closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep. Yes, sleep ... Make the burning, throbbing pain go away. Sleep, peaceful sleep ... Max was by now also on the move; he needed to get away from here. This is madness. They were waiting for him and his men. The bloody South African was here. He was waiting for him and his men. Waiting, with the bloody red-headed girl. The bitch!

Suddenly there was this mountain of a man before Max. He was huge, bigger than Roland, and he was grumbling something under his big black beard.

“You want to mess with Miss Angie? You need to get by me first, you motherfucker!” Max never saw the fist come; the one that switched out his lights.

I ran. Disregarding the fire from both the south and the north dune. I was going west. Angie was lying in the sand, looking smaller than usual. I reached her and dropped to my knees next to her.

“Angie!”

“Hmm...”

“Angie, look at me!” I shouted. There was a flicker of her eyes, but she did not open them.

“Ash...” She softly said, and I noticed the red stain on her dress, shining dully in the fading light.

“Angie! Look at me, darling!”

“Ash ... I ... feel...” Sigh. “My ... side hurts ... Burns...”

I turned her over on her left side and saw the blood oozing through her right side just above her hipbone. I need to get her back to the ship.

“Captain, let me have a look.” Silver said at my side. I did not see or hear him coming.

“Looks like she is shot in the side!” I said.

“We’ll have to move her. Take her to the tent. I cannot work here in the sand. I need to stop the blood flow and see if the bullet is still in her,” Silver said. I knew he was a medic, but Angie needs a doctor, and there is one on the ship.

“I must take her back to the ship where the doctor can look at her.”

“Captain, listen to me! We need to stop the bleeding, then we can take her to the ship. If the bullet is still in her, she needs surgery, and that I cannot do! Let me stabilize her first.”

“Stabilize her. Stop the blood,” I said and scooped Angie up in my arms. Getting up, I turned towards the tent in the camp. Suddenly I became aware that the rifle fire had stopped. It was quiet, only the sound of the breeze came to me. Together Silver and I walked over to the big tent, me carrying Angie. She must have passed out again because she was quiet, limp, and floppy in my arms. I had my left arm under her legs and my right under her shoulders. Forty-five kilograms never felt so heavy.

Gretah and Friederich charged towards us and intercepted us halfway to the tent. Upon seeing the blood on Angie, Gretah started to cry, and Friederich took hold of Gretah.

“She’s alive but bleeding,” Silver said. “We’ll take her to the tent and see in the light how serious it is.”

We, Silver, Gretah, Friederich, and I came to the tent. Lorie, Leah, and Olivia joined us.

“Bloody bastards!” Olivia said. “I hope they are all dead!”

“At least the one who shot Angie!” Came from the door and there was Darya. “Sorry, I was too late. He fired just before I got him in the scope. Sorry...” Darya was clearly rattled.

“At least, you got the motherfucker before he could take another shot,” Friederich said, taking the words out my mouth. I placed Angie on the table. She was slowly coming too. Her eyelids fluttered, and she moved her hand, trying to feel for her side.

“I need to cut through her dress. Can we have a little privacy here? All leave. Only her mom and dad can stay,” Silver said. I turned to leave and Gretah caught my arm.

“No, Ash. You stay too. She will want you here.”

“Okay,” I said.

Silver picked at Angie’s dress around her midriff and inserted a pair of scissors, cutting about twenty centimetres along with the bloody patch. Then he opened it up and started to dab with a medical cloth. I could smell disinfectant. Angie gasped and drew a deep breath. I took her hand. She clutched her hand over mine and closed her eyes with an expression of pain on her face. I died for Angie. She did not need this.

As Silver worked, I looked at the wound. There was a five-centimetre bloody line on her side. A small flap of skin hung loose. Silver looked up.

“Okay, Miss Angie, not so serious. The bullet just grazed you. No entry wound and no exit wound; it only scraped along your skin. I’ll have to stop the bleeding and disinfect it. That is all that I can do for now. I could go further and stitch it for you, but I rather let the doctor do it aboard the ship. Is that okay with you?”

“Just stop ... the hurting,” Angie said through clenched teeth.

“Captain Windsor ... no, never mind. Mister Rothman, do us a favour. Ask the Major to call the ship and ask the doctor if it is okay for me to give her a Pethidine intramuscular injection.” To Gretah and me he said, “It is the strongest I have here for pain, and I need to stop the bleeding. That stuff to stop the bleeding is like a stop sign but burns like hell-fire twice over. But it’s fun in the way it stops bleeding like, dead.”

In the meantime, Silver had a bandage pressed down on Angie’s side. The blood was oozing through. About then TC came through the tent flap, hand-held radio in hand. “Doc said only one cc. Go for it.”

“Captain Windsor, hold here and gentle pressure please.” I took over the bandage with my free hand, pressed down on the wound, and prayed for Silver to hurry it up.

“Let me, We girls need to stick together,” Darya said at my side. “Besides, it was my fault, I should have been faster.”

“Don’t say that again, Darya,” I said, but I let her take over the pressure bandage.

“Okay, Miss Angie, just a little prick, nothing serious,” Silver said.

“Go on. Just get it over...” Angie sighed.

“Good girl, it’s done!” Silver said, and we did not even realise that he had injected Angie. “Now to stop the bleeding. Just a minute or two to have the painkiller work.” Silver took out a bottle of dark brown, almost black, liquid. Angie opened her eyes and tried to sit up.

“Now what?” She asked, her eyelids halfway open.

“Angie, relax and stay down,” I said.

“Why? I want to go finish my steak,” She slurred, blinking her eyes as if she had a problem focusing them.

“Okay, she’s ready,” Silver said and took the bandage off the wound. “Sorry, Miss Angie.”

With that, he poured the black stuff over the wound. Angie screamed, draw a breath, and sat up.

“Fuck! And you call it fun!” She slurred; her eyes were spitting fire for a moment. Then she dropped on the table again. “That burned more than the fucking bullet hitting me.”

“Old Army trick. Friar’s Balsam. Works like a charm,” Darya said.

I looked down at Silver cleaning the wound.

“Bleeding stopped. Now, we’re just going close it up, and you can take her to the ship for the doc to suture it well.”

“Whadda ‘bout my steak?” Angie asked, and I could see that she was in a world of her own. “And you owe me ... You ruined my dress ... Look at all ... the tomato sauce you spilled ... on it...” And her voice trailed off.

“Captain Windsor, we’ll cook her another one and send it over. Go take her back to the ship,” TC said.

“Ain’t you going to sew it up, Silver?” Leah asked.

“Yeah! Sew my dress up, you ruined it,” Angie mumbled, and I suppressed a chuckle. Looks like she is out in another world.

“No, rather let the doc do it. If I do it, you’ll have a conversation starter every time you wear a bikini, Miss Angie,” Silver chuckled as he bandaged up Angie’s wound with the biggest Band-aid plaster I ever saw.

“Why would ... I need ... a doctor to sew my dress ... I need a ... tailor...”

When Silver finished, Angie tried to get up again. I helped her up, and she swung her legs over the edge of the table, blinking her eyes.

“Can we go now ... else my ... mom will ... come looking for ... me ... There might be trouble.” Angie slurred and drunkenly swayed where she sat on the table, her eyes half-closed. “Oh, there you are ... Hello Mum. Where have you been? A bloody big horse kicked me.” Giggle. Hick.

“Carry her, Ash. Her legs won’t work so well after that shot of Pethidine. Tomorrow she’ll never remember this bit of first aid!” Silver said. “And it looks like her short-term memory is gone as well. So, humour her.”

“How long is she going to be like this?” I asked, concerned at Angie’s state.

“Oh, about two to three hours. But she won’t have any side effects. No headache, at least.”

“Thanks, Silver. You’re a star,” Gretah said. “Thanks for patching Angie up and stopping the bleeding.”

“All in a day’s work Missus Rothman. All in a day’s work.”