tolerate the fumes, the jeep’s driver swung out into the road and accelerated past the truck towards the bridge.
Stratton looked now for David and Bernard. They had jumped down onto the road and, keeping low, slid down the embankment to the river.
Stratton looked back at the jeep. ‘It’s about that time,’ he muttered and moved off towards the bridge.
They jogged at a crouch through the low bushes towards the sharp bend in the river before it went under the bridge. Stratton stopped in the tall grass at the river bank and knelt where he had a clean view of both ends of the structure.
The jeep slowed as it approached the bridge in order to negotiate the shift from tarmac to metal on the road surface.
There was no sign of David and Bernard but Stratton had to assume they had taken cover.
He placed the rockets at his feet, putting the one he had already prepared to one side and made ready another, all the time keeping an eye on the jeep as it drove across the bridge.
Stratton levelled the rocket on his shoulder while Victor watched the rest of the convoy.
‘Victor?’ Stratton said without looking behind him.
Victor looked at him and realised with a start why Stratton had called his name. He was looking into the back of the launcher. ‘Oh, shit,’ he cried as he threw himself out of the way.
As the jeep reached the far side of the bridge the truck approached the other end and slowed to negotiate the hump, the rest of the convoy close behind.
Stratton pressed his face to the tube and looked through the sights, his finger on the firing button.
The jeep bumped onto the tarmac.
Stratton placed it in his sights and followed it along the road that curved back almost towards him. His peripheral vision kept track of the truck now on the bridge. Stratton was not so much waiting for the jeep to be in a particular place as he was the truck. As it reached the end of the bridge and slowed to ease its wheels over the hump there, Stratton pressed the rubber trigger button.
The roar shattered the silence and the rocket shot from the end of the tube, a fiery blast belching from its rear to set fire to the grass behind Stratton. The projectile left a trail of white smoke to mark its track and struck the jeep, exploding and turning the vehicle into a fireball that continued to move forward, the burning bodies limp in their seats. Not surprisingly, it failed to take the bend in the road and plunged down the embankment to hit the river bank, jettisoning its cargo of flaming corpses.
The truck about to drive off the bridge slammed on its brakes.
Stratton dumped the spent launch tube, picked up another, and swivelled through ninety degrees to find the vehicle directly in front of the truck that held the peasants. Smoke from the burning grass wafted around him but not thickly enough to interfere with his aim. He fired. The rocket streaked across the river and struck the vehicle, which exploded, turned sharply and rolled onto its side. One of the soldiers crawled out and got to his feet, screaming as he staggered, unable to see. His clothes, hands and hair were ablaze and he dropped to the road, where he did not move and continued to burn.
The truck carrying the peasants stopped now, the people inside shrieking as they flung themselves down onto its floor in terror.
Stratton glanced at the bridge. Much of the convoy had stopped on it, bumper to bumper. The most important vehicle, the black Mercedes, was in the centre.
Stratton got to his feet and faced the rise. ‘Louisa!’ he shouted as he waved his arms.
Louisa had seen the devastation that the rockets had caused, realised what Stratton had achieved, and knew that at any second he would call upon her to administer the coup de grâce. She’d already gripped the wires even before Stratton had called her name and was now holding them over the battery. If she’d been asked to pick up a gun and fire it she might have hesitated, lacking the confidence to pull the trigger and deal with the subsequent recoil and noise. But to touch the battery terminals with the ends of the wires was simple. She had come to terms with the guilt of sending so many souls to their deaths. Seeing the old man and the woman who’d tried to help him gunned down