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to face the beast. Ahead of him, on the edge of the track, was the landmine he had uncovered but had not had time to disarm. His armoured vest lay in the dirt beside him, where he had placed it just moments before.
    He pressed his arms against his sides, as if bracing himself, clenched both fists and fell forward, onto the mine, so that his stomach struck the pressure plate.
    The explosion sent up a cloud of dust to more than match the elephant’s wake and set Mike’s ears ringing. Carlos was thrown back into the air, almost upright again, as though he had just belly-flopped onto a trampoline. He fell once more and landed on his side.
    The elephant stopped dead – his charge had not yet gained enough momentum to carry him forward onto Carlos’s writhing body. He shook his mighty head, flapped his big ears like ragged flags, and turned and fled into the bush. As he swung around, Mike saw the puckered red and white hole in his side. He assumed the wound had been made by the same weapon that killed Fernando. Fresh blood formed a black stripe down the animal’s dusty grey flank.
    Mike stood and ran back up the track to the Nissan, bending at the waist to make himself a smaller target, in case the marksman was still watching. There was nothing he could do for Carlos without a first aid kit. As he ran he snapped the magazine from the AK-47 and confirmed that he was indeed out of ammunition.
    At last he made it to the Nissan and fired up the engine. The 4WD bounced and juddered along the narrow track, as he floored the accelerator. The sides of the vehicle brushed against the white tape marking the cleared corridor and eventually a strand caught on the front bumper. The tape snapped as a stake was pulled out of the ground and Mike prayed the wheelswouldn’t set off another mine. He stopped the truck as close as he dared to Carlos.
    The mine had been designed to blow off a foot or a hand, not to kill. When a man falls on his belly on a landmine and it tears him open and shreds his vital organs, however, that man is going to die.
    But the mine hadn’t killed Carlos outright. He bit into his lower lip to keep himself steady and die like a man. When he opened his mouth to speak, Mike saw the bright blood well from the teeth marks in his lip.
    â€˜Don’t touch me, Michael,’ he warned between ragged breaths.
    Mike could smell the blood and the stench from Carlos’s perforated bowel and he knew the man was right about the danger, but still he tore frantically at the field dressing. He opened the big white pad and placed it on Carlos’s abdomen. The dressing barely covered the ragged hole. The pumping blood soaked Mike’s arms to his elbows. The dying man’s intestines were visible and Mike had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.
    â€˜Shut up, Carlos, you’ll be OK. We’ll get you to Isabella.’ Mike remembered being taught to reassure the patient during his army first aid training. He thought it sounded as ridiculous in real life as it had in the classroom. ‘Carlos, for God’s sake, hang on, mate,’ he cried.
    He cradled the African’s head in his lap and grasped his right hand, holding tight. Carlos’s whole body shuddered and Mike looked skywards. He leaned back, slumped against the front wheel of thefour-wheel drive, utterly exhausted and soaked with the blood of his dead friend.
    Mike sat there for what seemed like a long time, but it was really only a couple of minutes, maybe less. He was stirred from his stupor by the sound of the heavy rifle booming again somewhere in the distance. The noise was farther away than before. It was followed a few seconds later by the pop-pop-pop of a burst of fire from another AK-47. He realised there were now two weapons in the area, and men who were not afraid to kill.
    The adrenaline that had coursed through him just a few moments before was now seeping away, leaving his limbs heavy and tired. Mike folded the