The Delta Read Online Free Page A
Author: Tony Park
the police on duty.
âWhere are you going?â the male constable asked her when she pulled up.
âThe Falls. Itâs hot today, isnât it?â
âAh, yes, it is very hot.â
âYou are from South Africa?â he asked her.
âI am from Germany.â
âAh, that is very far. What have you brought me from Germany?â He craned his head theatrically to look at her backpack.
âGoodwill and a sunny disposition.â
The policeman laughed and waved her through. She had been afraid the roadblock would have been alerted of the event happening not eighty kilometres distant, but this was Zimbabwe and few things worked here, least of all communications.
She raced past the Zambezi Lager billboard welcoming her to Victoria Falls, and turned left before entering the tourist town,following the sign to the border post with Botswana at Kazungula. This distance was about seventy kilometres â most of it through the Zambezi National Park, which ran along the river of the same name, upstream from the magnificent waterfalls. There was little traffic on the road and she overtook only a solitary overland tour truck, a converted lorry full of backpackers. The tour vehicles tended to avoid Zimbabwe these days, because of food and fuel shortages, but there were enough attractions in the country still to tempt the odd group of hardier tourists. The view of the Falls was better from the Zimbabwean side than across the chasm from the Zambian side.
She rode hard, not even slowing to watch a bull elephant feeding by the side of the road. A sign said
Kazungula twenty kilometres
. Sonja dared to hope. She looked over her shoulder at the disappearing blue blob of the truck. The sky seemed clear.
Ahead, the midday sun was sucking waves of heat haze from the black tar as she approached the crest of a hill. As she approached the peak she saw a dark shape shimmering through the curtain of hot air. Instinctively she pulled on the brakes, slowing her speed to eighty. She didnât want a head-on with a truck passing a slower vehicle.
The helicopter materialised in front of her, hovering just above the road. It was an Alouette and it had obviously been waiting for her, on the other side of the hill. How long had it been watching her?
The road was in a cutting, with steep banks on either side. It was, ironically, the same type of terrain she had chosen to ambush the convoy. Her enemy had turned her own strategy against her. Behind her was the overland truck, slowly gaining. If she turned she might bring harm into its way.
A man leaned out of the open cargo hatch and Sonja gunned the throttle as she saw an AK-47 barrel.
Rounds ricocheted and slapped into the tarmac on either side of her as she drove straight at the hovering helicopter. She couldnât reach the M4 in her pack and her nine millimetre Glock 17 pistol was stuffed inside her vest. While keeping her right hand on the throttle, she unfastened one of her vest pouches and pulled out a grenade. Lifting it to her mouth she pulled out the pin with her teeth. It was a lot harder than it looked on the old war movies, especially when riding a bike. She spat the pin out; Lee Marvin, eat your heart out. The Alouette descended and it looked like the pilot was going to land on the road.
Sonja relaxed her grip on the grenade and rolled it in her palm, allowing the spring-loaded safety lever to fly clear. She had somewhere between five and seven seconds before it detonated, but she kept it in her hand. As the helicopter came down it turned broadside on, to make a better roadblock and to give the uniformed gunner in the back a clearer shot at her. He opened fire again and Sonja veered off the road. The motorcycle tipped and went into a skid in the dirt. She came off and slid through the gravel, following close behind the bike. Above and beyond the scraping of her skin on the unforgiving ground she felt the burning lance and jarring smack of a bullet hitting
âWhere are you going?â the male constable asked her when she pulled up.
âThe Falls. Itâs hot today, isnât it?â
âAh, yes, it is very hot.â
âYou are from South Africa?â he asked her.
âI am from Germany.â
âAh, that is very far. What have you brought me from Germany?â He craned his head theatrically to look at her backpack.
âGoodwill and a sunny disposition.â
The policeman laughed and waved her through. She had been afraid the roadblock would have been alerted of the event happening not eighty kilometres distant, but this was Zimbabwe and few things worked here, least of all communications.
She raced past the Zambezi Lager billboard welcoming her to Victoria Falls, and turned left before entering the tourist town,following the sign to the border post with Botswana at Kazungula. This distance was about seventy kilometres â most of it through the Zambezi National Park, which ran along the river of the same name, upstream from the magnificent waterfalls. There was little traffic on the road and she overtook only a solitary overland tour truck, a converted lorry full of backpackers. The tour vehicles tended to avoid Zimbabwe these days, because of food and fuel shortages, but there were enough attractions in the country still to tempt the odd group of hardier tourists. The view of the Falls was better from the Zimbabwean side than across the chasm from the Zambian side.
She rode hard, not even slowing to watch a bull elephant feeding by the side of the road. A sign said
Kazungula twenty kilometres
. Sonja dared to hope. She looked over her shoulder at the disappearing blue blob of the truck. The sky seemed clear.
Ahead, the midday sun was sucking waves of heat haze from the black tar as she approached the crest of a hill. As she approached the peak she saw a dark shape shimmering through the curtain of hot air. Instinctively she pulled on the brakes, slowing her speed to eighty. She didnât want a head-on with a truck passing a slower vehicle.
The helicopter materialised in front of her, hovering just above the road. It was an Alouette and it had obviously been waiting for her, on the other side of the hill. How long had it been watching her?
The road was in a cutting, with steep banks on either side. It was, ironically, the same type of terrain she had chosen to ambush the convoy. Her enemy had turned her own strategy against her. Behind her was the overland truck, slowly gaining. If she turned she might bring harm into its way.
A man leaned out of the open cargo hatch and Sonja gunned the throttle as she saw an AK-47 barrel.
Rounds ricocheted and slapped into the tarmac on either side of her as she drove straight at the hovering helicopter. She couldnât reach the M4 in her pack and her nine millimetre Glock 17 pistol was stuffed inside her vest. While keeping her right hand on the throttle, she unfastened one of her vest pouches and pulled out a grenade. Lifting it to her mouth she pulled out the pin with her teeth. It was a lot harder than it looked on the old war movies, especially when riding a bike. She spat the pin out; Lee Marvin, eat your heart out. The Alouette descended and it looked like the pilot was going to land on the road.
Sonja relaxed her grip on the grenade and rolled it in her palm, allowing the spring-loaded safety lever to fly clear. She had somewhere between five and seven seconds before it detonated, but she kept it in her hand. As the helicopter came down it turned broadside on, to make a better roadblock and to give the uniformed gunner in the back a clearer shot at her. He opened fire again and Sonja veered off the road. The motorcycle tipped and went into a skid in the dirt. She came off and slid through the gravel, following close behind the bike. Above and beyond the scraping of her skin on the unforgiving ground she felt the burning lance and jarring smack of a bullet hitting
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