by D.I. Telbat
*~*
Chapter Eight
Gezangne waved his men back. The white rhino in the mopani trees was his. He'd shot dozens over the years, but this beast was one of the largest he'd ever seen. Or partially seen. The behemoth lumbered in the tall yellow grass just out of sight, except for his ears and rump.
His men were heavily armed with far too much firepower necessary to fall fifty rhinos, let alone one. Rather, they were armed for the game reserve rangers who'd been after the poachers sneaking through the wire to hunt the endangered animals. Zimbabwe's conservatory rangers had been trained by Australian Special Forces. More foreigners training his own people, Geza thought scornfully—to kill him. Foreigners were a disease he yearned to exterminate, but he was at war with the rangers!
Geza eased his high-powered rifle muzzle ahead of him. The rhino had bad eyesight, but it had an excellent sense of smell. And its hearing was remarkable. A hunter had to watch the ears. If the ears twitched toward the hunter, it was time to run. Mopani trees or not, a charging rhino couldn't be stopped.
But the rhino's ears didn't twitch, and Geza was downwind. A rhino that big had to have at least an eight-pound horn—worth almost five hundred thousand dollars. He could've tracked the rhino in the dark from its toilet, then drove up and shot it. But Geza fancied himself an artist, not just a careless poacher.
Unfortunately, he had to use the sound suppressor on the end of his valuable .30-06 rifle. The long, ugly pipe had been screwed onto the threaded barrel, and washers were fused inside to damper the noise and force gas outward. Without it, the rangers would be upon them in minutes since he was inside the reserve's perimeter fence. If all the rangers came at once, they could muster seventy men. Geza's army outnumbered them, but he was a realist; his men were nowhere near as well-trained as the rangers.
Sliding his backpack off his shoulder, he set it on the ground. He wanted nothing to hinder him now. Through his rifle scope, he aimed at the rhino. Still, he could see only the pointed ears. If the beast moved a little forward, it would be in view. Then, it would be all over, with a bullet six inches behind the eye. His 173-grain bullet would travel through the animal's brain and drop its multi-ton body in the dust.
Five minutes passed, then ten. The longer he waited, the more Geza thought about the day before. The airdrop hadn't been too significant, except the parcel in the end that had fallen without a parachute. And then he'd been told an American was arriving in the Malilangwe region that day. Why visit personally and make airdrops as well? It didn't make sense. Airdrops were expensive, and usually they were made to locations too remote or too dangerous to visit personally. If the humanitarians had planned to visit the nearby Chiredzi District, they could've delivered the aid by truck. That made much more sense.
Unless their visit hadn't been planned at all! Geza lowered his rifle. Something had gone wrong the day before. Something wrong enough to bring in an American cowboy. Four parcels had been dropped by parachute, yes, but what about the fifth? It had looked wrong then, and it seemed wrong now. An item had been dropped from the plane, something valuable! As valuable as a rhino horn? Probably not, but maybe more intriguing. Besides, he wanted to meet the American.
He turned his back on the rhino and snatched up his backpack as he walked past. The rhino stirred behind him. He'd get the beast another day.
"Geza!" His lieutenant gasped. "You had him! He was right there!"
"Forget it. We have something else to hunt today."
*~*
Chapter Nine
Annette wondered if she were being selfish. Was it reasonable to use COIL's limited resources simply to recover the body of her husband? Not to mention the risk to her own life!
But she wasn't alone. Noah was there to recover his son's body as well. He'd driven the entire way from Harare to Malilangwe, over two hundred and fifty miles. Though the weathered bush pilot had said little during the trip south, she knew he was hurting as much as Kitwe. What parent wouldn't be hurting?
Having arrived, Annette sat on the bumper of their vehicle, waiting. Noah approached her from the perimeter of the wildlife reserve where several rangers lingered with shotguns.
"Did you tell them why we're here?" Annette asked.
"No." He stood next to her and looked back at the rangers. "I don't want to create a stir here. Word could reach the diamond fields where some families would do anything for money. Your white husband would be a trophy for some people."
"So how do you know his body hasn't already been found?"
"Everyone would be talking about it. They're only talking about the airdrop." Noah squeezed Kitwe's hand. She would stay with the car. "I asked if everything landed where it was supposed to. I'd flown high and compensated for the wind to carry the items into the villages. No one said anything about bodies."
"So, we're on our own?"
"It's probably best this way, especially out here, even though these rangers aren't bad men." Noah palmed his GPS and Annette gave him his NL-3 rifle. Frowning at her, he leaned a little closer. "We may be armed, but I'd rather not attract more attention than we have to. Can you put your hair up?"
"My hair?" Annette touched her auburn locks. "My beret isn't enough?"
"Being white is bad enough. No offense. But a white woman in the bush will draw more attention."
"Sorry." She tucked her ponytail under her green beret. It sat awkwardly, but at least from a distance, she hoped her features would be hidden. "Which way?"
"North, away from the reserve. You have everything?" He checked his own canteens, one on each hip, and a small pack strapped to his back. "Okay, this way. We'll travel my flight path, but airdropped items can float up to several kilometers on the wind."
"Titus and Meikles didn't have a parachute."
"Doesn't matter. By the look of the terrain ahead, we could walk past the bodies by accident, and they could lay fifty meters away. The wind can blow anything sideways as it falls through the air."
Annette followed him north, anxious to get moving. Her own pack contained food for two days and one of the body tarps. If they had to sleep in the bush, the tarps would do as sleeping bags, but Annette preferred to get Titus' body wrapped up quickly and find transportation to the nearest airport. Since marrying Titus, she hadn't seen her family in California much. In her loss, she wanted to be near loved ones, even if her family members weren't Christians.
She'd also have to track down Titus' family, who hadn't even attended their wedding. He had a brother who was a seismologist somewhere in Alaska, and a sister who was an archaeologist, usually on site in a foreign country. Since Titus had been a criminal for years, his list of sins against people near and far was quite long. He might've given his life to Christ, but the consequences and wounds caused by those sins wouldn't disappear overnight. Even so, it was going to take her a long time to get past the pain of losing him. But maybe, Annette pondered, she could have a small part in bringing the Caspertein family some healing even though Titus was gone.
They reached a low ridge and paused to scope the terrain ahead with binoculars. There were ravines and wadis, baobab and thick acacia stands. In some directions, they could see for miles, and in other directions, steep hillsides, even cliffs, hindered their view. Such rugged land gave Annette a degree of despair. What if she never found their bodies? The wild dogs would tear them into—
"This is Africa," Noah said, and marched on.
His statement seemed to answer her question, but it was unsettling, too. Africa was unforgiving, he seemed to say. Nothing was easy in Africa. When things went wrong, only those who moved on survived. Annette called to him ten paces ahead.
"Noah! There's people!"
Noah crouched and gazed where she pointed. Eight Land Cruisers crawled northward a kilometer away.
"Wovits!" He said it like a curse word. Grabbing her elbow, he pulled her into a ditch where the skeleton of an antelope lay. "Stay down. We prayed together at the car before leaving. Now would be a good time t
o pray again."
"Are they the soldiers left over from the liberation?"
"And their sons. They'll kill you. I'm sorry. This is a mistake."
Annette's heart pounded as the engines of the vehicles moved ahead, prowling where few vehicles had gone before.
"It's okay." Annette nodded at Noah. "They went on ahead. God is with us. And we have these."
She tapped her NL-3 rifle.
"Non-lethal weapons won't help us with these men."
"Have you seen this gun in action?" Annette pulled the carbine firmly against her shoulder. "I have. It fires six hundred rounds per minute. If we get into trouble, we get to high ground and hold it. I have Corban Dowler on speed dial."
She patted the sat-phone on her belt.
"Only the wife of Titus would talk like that."
"I guess his confidence rubbed off on me."
"Then you should know the whole story. In the Shangaan village, one of the rangers said the wovits came through and confiscated the digital Bible devices and water filters we airdropped with the food yesterday. Annette, the wovits saw the airdrop. They may even know we're here."
"Then, we're even. We know they're here, too." Annette smiled for him, imagining Titus would've smiled right then, too—to show his confidence for others. Perhaps he had indeed rubbed off on her, at least his good qualities. "Give me the GPS. I'll lead. You stay farther behind to watch my back. We don't have radios, so don't yell if you see someone before I do. Just shoot me in the back."
"Shoot you?"
"They're tranquilizer pellets, Noah. I have to inhale the toxin to pass out. Shoot me in the back to get my attention, that's all. You won't tranq me if you shoot me in the back. Haven't you been trained with NL guns?"
"Of course not! I'm a pilot. What use are guns to me?"
"Right. Stay about twenty meters behind me, okay? Let's get our guys and get out alive, huh?"
"You sure you weren't born in Africa, Annette Caspertein?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Because you are fearless!"
*~*
Chapter Ten
Titus signaled with his arm to Meikles across the wadi, five feet up the nearest baobab tree.
"A little higher!" It hurt to move even his good arm, but the hunt for water and food kept his mind off the pain, and the boy needed the encouragement. "Good, Meikles! Now, dig into the tree right there. Is it soft?"
"Yeah, but I don't want to eat the tree."
"We won't eat this part. We'll just squeeze it for water like yesterday." Titus checked up and down the wadi. The wild dogs hadn't returned since dawn. "How's it coming?"
"My stick isn't sharp enough."
"Keep trying. You're doing great. Try to find a crack to fit your stick into."
Titus shut out the desperation from his mind. Without water, he was as good as dead in twenty-four hours. He lay his head against the clay slope. With his feet elevated uphill, he wiggled his broken leg. He could still feel his toes, but the swelling was worse. With the blood loss from his arm and whatever internal injuries he had, his condition would worsen without water intake.
"Surrender, you bandit!" Meikles yelled at the tree and weakly attacked it with his stick.
With a little focus, Titus had discerned his compass points. The wadi ran north to south. The wildlife preserve was south. Meikles could go for help. The distance wasn't more than ten miles. Could a four year old make such a trek? That was the problem with wildlife reserves and Africa in general: there was a lot of wildlife, inside and outside the reserve. A four-year-old child would be easy prey, even with his trusty stick.
The worst case scenario, Titus considered, would be to die and leave the boy alone. Would that be any different than sending him for help? He guessed not. It was time to change tactics, but first, he would need water and food while Meikles went for help.
"Meikles! I have a new plan. Reach out on that branch and get some of that fruit. See them? They're as big as your head."
"It's all hairy. Disgusting!"
"Hunger doesn't know disgusting."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just do your best. Try to bring me two."
"Okay, but I'm not eating any!"
Titus chuckled and touched his safety harness. Two straps buckled across his chest like a bandolier. He'd avoided unfastening the straps because he felt the bruises underneath. But now, as he pulled at one buckle, the rest of the harness came apart in his fingers. Threads of what should've been an impervious nylon and poly blend fell free as if it were grass.
"I got one, Titus!"
"Excellent! Keep it up, you mighty tree hunter! Are you sure you're not ten or twelve years old?"
"Yes! I'm only four!"
Plucking away more pieces of the harness, Titus realized why it was in such terrible condition. The harness hadn't been worthless after all, even after he'd unclipped it from the plane's safety line. It had saved his life, protecting his vital organs during the collision with the ground, absorbing the abuse of the impact.
"This adventure just keeps getting stranger, Lord." He couldn't hold back the tears—moisture he didn't mean to waste. His survival was too amazing to recount to himself, let alone to someone else. If he died the following day, he would pass into eternity in no less awe of how God had allowed him to survive the fall. After all, maybe his work was finished on earth. He'd kept Meikles alive for some grand purpose, perhaps.
But there was regret in his heart still. If he'd focused on what it really meant to be a Christian COIL agent, he would've remained dedicated to helping others, no matter the job. If he hadn't been so distracted in the plane, his own distaste for lowly work embittering him, Meikles might not have fallen from the plane at all! Instead of aiding people, his complaining heart could've killed Meikles.
He thought of Annette. If he died now, she would grieve, but she was a strong woman. Most likely, she would continue to work for COIL, touching lives in profound ways, maybe even covertly.
"Two hairy fruit!" Meikles announced as he tossed the football-shaped fruit onto the slope. They rolled to the bottom of the draw, which the boy fetched again and planted them in the clay next to Titus. "Now what?"
"Now that you got us a little food, we need water. Can you help me take my shirt off?"
"Lift your arms up."
"I can only lift one. You'll have to manage."
Titus tore the t-shirt in two places to remove it. If he knew he'd be in the bush and not in the back of a cargo plane, he would've worn something more durable. A moment later, Meikles pulled it over the arm splint. The boy took a step back, the shirt in his hand.
"You're all . . . black!"
Daring a glance down at his swollen torso, Titus saw that his skin was black with blood where the straps had crossed his chest.
"God, help me." He rested his head against the slope again, exhausted from the activity. "Go up to the marsh, Meikles. Dig a hole in the mud. When it fills up with water, use the shirt to soak up the water."
"But you said there are dogs out there."
"If you see the dogs—no. If you even hear the dogs, you run back here to me, or you climb a tree, fast. God made you smarter than those drooling mutts, okay?"
"Maybe we'll be rescued soon. I'll wait here with you."
"Meikles, you have to go. I'm in bad shape. Without water, even dirty shirt water, I could die in the night. You have to be my hero today. You have to bring me some water. It ain't easy being a man sometimes, but God will give you the courage. What do you say?"
"Okay, I'll try."
"Thank you. I won't stop praying the whole time."
"Can you pray now? Papa always prays for me."
"Of course." Something cracked inside Titus, and he sensed it was God doing His miraculous reshaping of his heart. He'd never prayed over a child before! "Dear Father, Meikles and I are trying to be brave. We are men who need Your help and Your protection today. We know our families are searching for us, but You're the One who has to keep us
alive. Since we are Your children, we know You hear us when we pray. In Jesus' mighty name, amen."
"Amen." Meikles took a deep breath. "Count for me."
"Count for you?"
Meikles knelt on the bottom of the wadi clay, like a sprinter in starter blocks.
"Tell me when to go."
Titus was reminded of his own youth, racing his older brother along the banks of the river in Arkansas.
"Three . . . two . . . one . . . go!"
Meikles, with the t-shirt wrapped around his small fist, dashed away. And Titus continued to pray.
*~*
Chapter Eleven
Gezahgne stood in the same place as he had the day before. Gazing to the northwest, he imagined the parcels and their parachutes floating to the earth. And then one parcel falling without a chute.
"About there." Geza used both arms to indicate the direction for his lieutenants, all seven with their own vehicles. "I'll take the center track. Spread out to my left and right to comb the ground."
"Geza, we only drove this far because we knew the route. No one's ever taken trucks into those hills. There are no roads, only trails for bushmen."
"Then go on foot, you fool!" Geza adjusted his canteen, suspecting he'd be on foot soon enough himself in this terrain. "Just get to that parcel before anyone else. Whatever fell from that plane is worth it. The man who fails me gets the tree for a day."
"Yes, sir!"
Geza smirked at his most loyal men as they saluted him. He kept them rich with money, women, and land. The promise of adventure and the threat of torture tied to the camp tree kept them in line.
"Radio me when you find something. If Americans are involved, then we're on the international stage today. Do not fail me! Let's go."
He climbed into the lead Land Cruiser and checked ahead for a way through a grassy ravine, its dangers veiled by the brown foliage.
A muffled gunshot made him jump. He threw open his door and marched to the next vehicle where a man screamed incoherently.
"What's the meaning of this?" Geza shoved one soldier aside to see the screamer, who was doubled over, his booted foot a bloody mess. "How did this happen?"
"He shot himself, Geza," a recent recruit said. "It was an accident."
"Get him out." Geza moved back and unclipped his holster. "Hurry up! Set him here."
