Two of the lads went down to the river`s edge while Mark got a fix on the Magellan. "Exactly lOKs from the border` he whispered. All the chaos was over the other side of the road. Tracked vehicles were maneuvering and firing, and the AAA guns were still pumping away. In the middle and far distance there were bursts of small-arms fire. They must have been shooting at dogs and anything else that moved--including each other.
We were almost past caring. There were six miles to go, and we would have to fight for every mile. We sat with our backs against the trees, watching the two lads filling the bottles. "Ten Ks," Dinger said. "Fucking hell, we could run that in thirty minutes." "Pity about the full moon," Bob said. "And the desert camouflage," Dinger said. "And the fact that every man and his dog is out looking for us." When Mark and Legs came back with our bottles we considered the options. There seemed to be four. We could cross the river; move east to avoid the border and attempt to cross on the following night; keep going west; or split up and try any of the three as individuals. The river was a fearsome sight. It must have been about 1,600 feet across, and after the torrential rainfall it was in full flood, flowing fast and furious. The water would be freezing. We were weakened by the long tab and lack of sleep, food, and water. We couldn`t see any boats, but if we found one it would become an option. That left swimming, and I doubted we`d last more than ten minutes.