Mercenary s-5

by Duncan Falconer

  As the plane disappeared over the tops of the trees the ground shook with the force of a violent explosion.

  The bomb had landed not far from the stubborn burro and the animal went berserk, jumping to its feet and kicking out wildly. One of the rebels had been wounded by the blast and was kneeling, inspecting his bloody abdomen, when the donkey struck him hard with both its back hooves, sending him flying. Blood poured from the animal’s flank as it bucked and brayed madly.

  One of the men went to the aid of his comrade who had been kicked, only to discover that the wounded man had died.

  A shot sounded and the stubborn burro dropped to the ground, its legs still kicking. The rebel fired another round into the animal’s head, finishing the job.

  ‘If a bomb hits those boxes we’ll all be dead!’ Victor shouted in frustration.

  The men grabbed up the boxes and ran with them to cover. A couple more picked up their dead comrade and followed.

  The aircraft appeared again, turning around the outside of the clearing. The men feverishly herded the remaining burros into the jungle. As the craft came at them once again, they fired on it.

  Halfway across the clearing the aeroplane veered sharply as if it had been struck, but it righted itself and the co-pilot poked his arm from the window once more. Stratton suspected that the bombs were mortar shells, ideal for dropping from light aircraft.

  As the plane flew overhead the man released the bomb and this time everyone flung themselves to the ground. The missile fell short of the group, exploding noisily but failing to injure anyone. By now every man - except Marlo’s anti-aircraft team - was inside the forest. They could hear the plane but couldn’t see it, and it continued to buzz around the area, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of the column through a gap in the jungle canopy. An explosion some distance away perhaps signalled the enemy’s frustration. It was followed by silence.

  While the rebels regained their composure, some of them wrapped the dead man in a poncho and secured the body to the back of a burro. The group was soon snaking through the forest at a steady pace.

  Stratton joined the men near the rear. He hadn’t seen much of the Indians since that first meeting and assumed they were scouting ahead. So far it had been an interesting morning. These people really were at war. The aircraft could have radioed the column’s location and if the government forces were in any way organised the rebels could expect another contact of some kind. It was clear that Stratton was going to have to keep alert.

  He still felt annoyed at being with the rebels despite having settled for a revised plan of escape. The problem he had was the reason for his being there. He was a salaried member of Her Majesty’s forces and this was a half-arsed job for a US Special Forces colonel. The US and the UK were allies, sure, but this was essentially a covert operation. He was beginning to think that Sumners might not have had the authority to send him. And why hadn’t Steel used one of his own boys? That was a bit odd, to say the least.

  Stratton had considered all that before the jump but since the mission was supposed to be nothing more than a drop, a quick lesson in explosives and then a trek back home, he hadn’t given it much more thought. Now he was growing concerned. What would happen if the other side caught him, for instance? Steel had sketchily covered that by telling him that he had friends on both sides and that Stratton would be fine. Stratton was no longer confident that would be so. The urge to bug out and leave these people to their own war grew in him again but he held it at bay. He decided to take things one phase at a time and reckoned that if the situation changed significantly he would quit and go home. He ran his fingers through his moist hair, scratched a small bite on the back of his neck and trudged on.

  For the first few kilometres the terrain was fairly level but after crossing a shallow river it began to ascend. The forest canopy also thinned beyond the river and the sun shone down on the column. Within a couple of hours they had gained a lot of altitude and the ground became rocky. The view of the roof of the forest they had walked through was stunning.

  In the late afternoon the sun went behind dark clouds that promised a deluge and the humidity increased notably. Eventually rain pelted down and slowed the column’s progress as the steep terrain grew slippery. Victor kept the men marching with only a few short breaks. The rebels ate on the move.

  The rain finally ceased as they were traversing a steep hillside and shortly afterwards the column came to a stop. Stratton sat down on a rock and had a sip of water. He did not feel as fit as he would have liked, not yomping fit at least. It was always the same. A man could go for as many runs as he liked and do all the gym training he wanted. But when it came to a good long trek carrying a heavy pack there was no better preparation than yomping itself.

  The front of the column had disappeared into a dense wood and some movement ahead turned out to be a runner making his way back down the line. He was informing each man of something and as he passed Stratton he whispered a single word harshly. ‘Neravistas!’

  Stratton watched the man reach the rearguard and after a brief chat all but a handful of men, left to watch the burros, hurried past him up the line towards the front. The tension among them was perceptibly high.

  Stratton instinctively studied the surrounding terrain, looking for places that offered cover from any gunfire and for potential escape routes. Any firefight involving these people would be a very good reason to get out of there.

  Yet after several inactive minutes his curiosity got the better of him. He picked up his pack and rifle and headed up the line of burros. As he reached the front of the column he saw why it had halted. A dozen men hung by their necks from various branches. The ghoulish expressions on the faces were horrifying: their eyes bulged, their tongues hung out of their mouths, their necks were elongated and broken. One noose held only a head - the body lay on the ground beneath it. Thousands of flies crawled over the bodies, concentrating on their eyes and mouths. The smell of death and decay was overpowering.

  Stratton had seen his share of dead bodies but he would never get used to sights like that. The smell alone was enough to make anyone vomit and he moved upwind of the macabre display.

  All the rebels except those minding the burros were huddled in a group just below the crest of the hill. Victor, Marlo and a handful of others squatted to one side and appeared to be arguing heatedly in low voices.

  Stratton kept his distance and sat against a tree to watch what was going on, ready to take off at the slightest sign of trouble. There seemed to be some indecision among the rebels about what they should do. He couldn’t tell if the warning about the Neravistas was that they were nearby or that they had already been and gone.

  The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of one of the young Indians who went directly to Victor. Whatever he said caused more discussion, which continued after Victor sent the Indian back the way he had come.

  One of the rebels from the large group saw Stratton and decided to come over and sit close by. He was a young man who, despite the excitement, had a casual air about him. He took a piece of dried meat from a breast pocket and offered some to Stratton.

  ‘No. Thank you,’ said Stratton.

  The young man, who was quite skinny, had piercing dark eyes below a greasy jet-black fringe. ‘They are unable to agree on whether to attack or not,’ he said, taking a bite of the meat and tucking the rest into his pocket.

  ‘Attack what?’ Stratton asked.

  ‘There is a Neravista patrol heading our way, the other side of this hill,’ he said, pointing towards the crest. ‘The scouts say they do not know we are here . . . They may be the ones who did this,’ he said, indicating the bodies.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘They’re from Bajero’s brigade. The one with his body separated from his head, he’s Altorro, Bernard’s cousin,’ he said, jutting his chin towards a strong-looking young man with long hair and a beard on the edge of the group who was looking towards the dead rebels with a forlorn expressio
n on his face. ‘I knew him too,’ the young man added.

  ‘Why’d they hang them?’

  ‘That’s what they always do to us when they capture us. It’s their policy. It’s a good incentive to fight to the death, no?’ he added.

  Stratton had to agree. ‘What do you think is going to happen?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The young man did not seem very sure. ‘Marlo wants to attack but Victor thinks we should let them pass. Marlo is always aggressive and Victor is always cautious.’

  Stratton looked over at the commanders. ‘Who do you think is winning?’

  The young man shrugged. ‘Marlo believes we should take every opportunity to strike at the enemy. Victor is arguing that we are not an attacking force at this moment but a resupply column. He says our responsibility is to get the supplies home safely. Marlo is arguing that we are a guerrilla force that must adapt to opportunities and that we must revenge those men. We can become fighters when it is time to fight and then change back to a resupply convoy after we have won.’

  ‘Isn’t Victor in charge?’

  ‘He’s in charge of the supply column but he is not a soldier. Marlo was once an officer in Neravista’s army and is technically in charge of any fighting . . . My name is David,’ the young man said.

  ‘Stratton.’ He held out his hand and David shook it. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea to have two commanders.’

  ‘Yes,’ Stratton agreed, liking the young man. ‘What do you think they should do?’

  David took a moment to consider his response. ‘I would make my decision based on the number of enemy. If we are more than them maybe we should attack.’

  ‘Have you ambushed Neravistas before?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not like this. But I have taken part in some attacks.’

  ‘How well armed are they?’

  ‘They have more weapons than us. Better weapons.

  More machine guns, usually. They have grenades. Sometimes they have mortars.’

  ‘What about artillery or air support?’

  ‘They can’t get their big guns into these mountains. There are no roads for them to get close enough . . . You’ve seen their air force.’

  ‘Are there likely to be other patrols in this area?’

  ‘It’s possible. But communications are difficult in this region. We blow up their radio masts whenever they build new ones.’ David looked at Stratton, eyeing his sophisticated weapon and other equipment and the ease with which he seemed to take the threat of conflict, as if this were nothing new to him. ‘What do you think we should do?’ he asked.

  Stratton shrugged. ‘I’m inclined to agree with Victor. But then, I just got here.’

  David nodded thoughtfully as he looked over at his commanders.

  ‘You’re an officer?’ Stratton asked.

  ‘No,’ David said, with a grin that displayed a full set of badly stained teeth. ‘I’m hardly a soldier. I’m a teacher.’

  Stratton had not given the rebels much thought as individuals but the young man was a reminder that rebellions like this one were fought by ordinary people. ‘How long have you been with the rebellion?’

  ‘Only a few months,’ David said, looking down at his hands in thought.

  ‘Why did you join up?’

  ‘My father was accused of supplying the rebels with food. He was a farmer. They came one day and shot him . . . and then they shot my mother. Why they shot her also, I don’t know.’ As David said this it seemed to affect him deeply. ‘I had nowhere else to go, I think.’

  ‘How is it going?’

  ‘The rebellion? I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. We keep fighting, they keep fighting. We hope Neravista will one day give in to us . . . You will have to ask Neravista, maybe.’

  The older Indian arrived at the crouch and reported to Victor who immediately appeared disappointed by what he heard. Marlo, on the other hand, became suddenly enthused and moved away to talk hurriedly with the men. David left Stratton to join his colleagues. After a quick briefing a couple of the men headed back to the column while the main group made its way to the crest.

  The young teacher hurried over to Stratton. ‘The scouts report less than twenty soldiers. That was the number agreed between Victor and Marlo. If there were more we would let them pass. We will attack.’ He left again to catch up with his colleagues.

  Stratton watched the ragtag group of individuals go. They wore expressions on their faces that ranged from unease to resolve as they checked their weapons and adjusted ammunition pouches. There was scant sign of any military expertise about them but they seemed determined enough.

  Once again Stratton considered getting out of there. He was ready to leave but the motive to do so, the impulse that would push him over the edge and make him go, was not yet sufficiently compelling. He wanted at least to see the men’s preparations for the ambush.

  He moved to where he could watch the rebels making their way down the steep slope as silently as they could. The tall trees that provided a patchwork canopy continued down the hill. The ground was stony with little undergrowth, making it advantageous to the ambushers on the high ground since it provided them with a clear view below. The slope would also make it difficult for the Neravistas to charge once the ambush had been sprung. So far the position looked good and Stratton decided to wait.

  The men formed a line a short way down from the crest, lying or kneeling behind what little cover there was. Silence descended as they settled into position. Marlo moved along the back of the line, whispering words of encouragement.

  Two men came over the crest from behind Stratton and made their way towards the far end of the ambush line. Their rifles were slung over their shoulders and they were each carrying one of the newly delivered 66mm-rocket launch tubes.

  Stratton wondered whose idea that had been. As he understood it, the rebels didn’t know how to fire them. He looked around for Victor but he was nowhere to be seen. The two men moved out of sight beyond the trees and, unable to resist seeing what they might do with the rockets, Stratton followed them.

  The two rebels joined the end of the ambush line, where Victor was craning his neck to see down the slope. On seeing the weapons he spoke to the men briefly. One of them extended his rocket tube, which readied it for firing. Perhaps he did know how to use it, Stratton thought. He seemed to have convinced Victor that he could because the Frenchman allowed him to take up a firing position.

  Stratton took cover beside a boulder a few metres behind Victor who had gone back to looking for the enemy. The rebel leader suddenly jerked back behind his tree as if to hide. He made a hasty signal to those nearby that suggested he had seen something.

  Down the slope Stratton saw the top of a tree move. He eased himself up in order to get a better look. A man in camouflage gear and carrying a rifle was leaning against the tree, digging something out of the top of his boot. He removed the offending bit of debris and continued on through the wood, more interested in watching his immediate footing than his wider surroundings. He was followed by another soldier and shortly afterwards half a dozen more men ambled into view. They chatted casually, rifles slung over their shoulders. More followed, one with a pack on his back that had a long whip antenna protruding from it. Their voices filtered up to the ambushers, each soldier clearly unaware that they were being observed so closely.

  One of the rocket men lay on his belly, facing down the slope.The tube rested along his back and he pressed his cheek against its side so that he could look through the sight. The other man was having difficulties with the catch that had to be released for the tube to extend and he tugged at it in frustration.

  Marlo had positioned himself in the centre of the ambush line and kept the men from firing until the enemy was in the kill zone. He raised an arm. When he dropped it he cried, ‘Fire!’ The sudden volley, a combination of single aimed shots and wild automatic fire, shattered the silence
.

  Victor moved back from the line a few feet: with just a pistol for a weapon he was not going to get involved. Stratton saw the imminent danger and leapt forward. He sprinted down the hill and as he grabbed Victor by the scruff of his neck and yanked him out of the way the rocket fired.

  The missile shot out of the tube with a deafening roar as a long tail of fire erupted from its rear. The rocket struck the ground with a glancing blow, bounced skyward at a steep angle and hit a tree halfway up its trunk, which the massive explosion shattered. Burning wood splinters rained down. The top half of the tree, a large mass of heavy branches, came crashing down in front of the ambush line.

  The bushes behind the man who’d fired the missile burst into flames - and so did his backside and the heels of his boots. He leapt up screaming, then fell to the ground rolling over and over furiously in an effort to put out the flames. The other rocket man immediately abandoned any plans to fire his own weapon - his partner’s fate was a dramatic warning.

  Victor lay staring at a burning bush near where he had been kneeling and thought of the horrific consequences if Stratton had not pulled him out of the way.

  A handful of guerrillas kept firing but most had left their positions because of the explosion and the falling timber.

  The government troops returned a few rounds before they fled, shooting wildly behind them as they ran.

  Marlo yelled at the few rebels who were still shooting to cease fire.

  Victor got to his feet, shaking with rage as he looked for the rocket-firing rebel who had by now managed to put out the flames but whose clothing was still smouldering heavily. ‘You idiot!’ he shouted. ‘You told me you knew how to fire it.’

  ‘I did, but not how to aim it.’

  Marlo stormed over, his face flushed with anger. ‘Who fired that rocket?’ he demanded, looking from Victor to the man.

  Victor was not a vindictive person and although he was indeed angry with the rocket-firing man he wanted to protect him from Marlo who had a dark soul. ‘Shouldn’t we be more concerned about a counter-attack?’