By then Captain Peter Howard and his three-man away-team, having buried the power-core, had reached the scrubby foliage that marked the western fringe of the hills. They had not even attempted to make for the rendezvous site, knowing well that Camilla would not wait for them. Instead, they made for the hills at an oblique angle from where their vehicle had broken down, realising that this would cut out at least two weeks’ journey time.
Johannes Pederson turned on the handheld locator. To his relief it gave out the expected start up chime and began to scroll through data as it hunted for a fix on the mother locator unit with the convoy. It would bleep if they were moving off course and the small screen would display an arrow indicating the direction they must take.
“They’re still there,” he announced, “but a long way off. I’d hoped to reach them soon but they’re further north than we thought they would be.”
“Can’t be helped,” stated Peter Howard. “We have enough food and water for three to four days and there will be fresh water when we reach the woods proper.”
He turned to Angus and Tom.
“Lets go,” he said encouragingly. “We’re on the home straight.”