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‘Here he comes again,’ Novak said into his headset. He and Heinrich sat side by side in the open cargo hatch of the Oryx, their rifles ready, full magazines loaded for the Rooivalk’s next pass. Novak thought it would probably be the gunship’s last.
Henri screamed through gritted teeth as Kevin tied the tourniquet around his right thigh. The inside of the helicopter was spray-painted with blood. One of several twenty-millimetre cannon shells that had passed through the fuselage walls had all but severed the Frenchman’s leg. The pulpy mess was studded with the bright white of shattered bone and the leg rested at an obscene angle. Kevin’s quick work might just save his life. It was probably wasted effort, Novak thought. The weapons officer on the gunship had his eye in now and had steadi
