Operation Congo (S-Squad Book 9)

by William Meikle

  “We’re getting nowhere here. Double-time, back along the trail. Let’s see if we can lose then in the night and double back ‘round.”

  He took to his heels, Wiggins by his side.

  Behind him, the barking roars from the chasing crowd brought an answering response of more roars from the far side of the wall.

  Their flight in the dark became a thing of nightmare; the only light was that provided by their rifle sight-lights dancing across the ground ahead of them. At every step, they expected ambush and all the while the roars of an angry mob followed them. But slowly at first then with more surety they outpaced the crowd and were soon running hard with the roars fading behind them.

  After a time, Banks brought them to a halt.

  “That’s enough of this running shit,” he said, waiting for the thud of his heartbeat in his ears to lessen. “See if we can find a trail that’ll take us north. We need to get back to that gate, and we need to do it fast.”

  He didn’t have to add anything. Both of them knew that they hadn’t heard any gunfire since beginning their own flight. Either Hynd and the others had effected their escape…or they were in deep shit. The only way to find out was to go and look.

  And that meant heading north through dense foliage in unknown terrain.

  Still, it’s not as if we haven’t done it before.

  Wiggins found a track, an animal trail, cloying mud underfoot but it took them in the general direction in which they wanted to go. Every so often, the foliage would become less dense, enough for them to get their bearings on the flickering red glow of the torches on the gate at the settlement.

  It was as they approached the township again, under better cover than before, that Banks’ guts roiled and the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. He brought Wiggins to a halt and took them both quickly off the track, taking refuge in the dark where they stood, neither moving, deep in the shadows under a pair of dripping leaves that loomed over them like oversized umbrellas. Wiggins was about to speak, but Banks put a finger to his lips, calling for silence. His spidey-sense was tingling and he knew it well enough to trust it.

  Once again, it hadn’t failed him. His fingers tightened around his rifle as he heard heavy steps sucking at the mud back along the way they’d come. Whatever it was, he smelled it before he saw it—an acrid, meaty odor and a faint hint of rotted meat coming with it. A beast lumbered along the track, passing within three yards of them but apparently oblivious to their presence. Banks didn’t know what surprised him the most; the fact that it appeared to be a dinosaur—a raptor, if he wasn’t mistaken—or the fact that it had a bridle and saddle and was being ridden by one of the townspeople sitting high on the beast’s shoulders. The feathers in the man’s hair glistened where their oils caught the reflected glare of the torches on the wall.

  Neither Banks nor Wiggins moved for long seconds even after the sound of the beast’s passage moved away, heading towards the settlement.

  “Fucking hell, Cap,” Wiggins said in a whisper.

  “My thoughts exactly, Wiggo. But at least we ken that it’s not a giant bloody ostrich that we’ve been following. And it doesn’t change the fact that the sarge and the others are still on the other side of that wall. The head-on, balls-to-the-wall approach didnae work so we need to be quick and quiet as church mice—and it’s not just people we’ve got to worry about now.”

  “Fucking Jurassic Park bollocks, that’s all we need.”

  “Eyes on the prize, lad,” Banks replied. “If there’s one of those buggers on this side of yon gate, you’ve got to ken there’s going to be more on the other side.”

  “Aye. And probably not house-trained either.”

  They returned to the trail, taking it slowly, painfully so to Banks’ mind. The lack of gunfire—in fact, the now almost complete silence—had him on edge and his spidey-sense, although no longer setting his guts roiling, still told him that trouble wasn’t far away.

  A strange calm had settled on the township. Men still patrolled the balcony above the gate and those guards were keeping the torches lit but there was now no sign of the angry crowd who had been chasing Banks and Wiggins minutes before. It was possible they were still out in the jungle but Banks had a feeling that the responsibility for the chase had been passed to the one riding the raptor—just as he somehow knew there was more than one rider out here in the night with them.

  He put it to the back of his mind, remembering his own words.

  Eyes on the prize, lad.

  He turned his attention to the gate.

  He had more time now to have a good look at what faced them but a prolonged examination didn’t add anything he didn’t already know; the only way up the wall was well guarded and the defenders were now ready for them. Having lost the element of surprise they had also, to Banks’ eye, lost any chance of getting the sarge and the others out quietly. He pulled Wiggins back deep into the foliage to where they could talk in whispers without fear of being overheard.

  “I can’t see a way in,” he said.

  “Me neither, Cap. Maybe further along, away from the town?”

  Banks shook his head.

  “If it was that easy, they wouldn’t have a gate in the first place. I’m guessing its sheer walls all the way.”

  But now that the thought had been placed in his head, it was hard to shake it. If they could only get safely across to the other side, their chances of finding Hynd and the others would be greatly improved.

  “Let’s try a couple of hundred yards east, away from the town,” he said. “Then we’ll see how easy it is to shimmy up and over, if at all. And if yon rider comes back, you have my permission to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  - 8 -

  Hynd, Davies, and Wilkins only had time to get the rescued WHO team away from the wall and under the canopy before two raptors—smaller than the first but not by all that much—came into the clearing from opposite sides. They made directly for the corpse that lay steaming in the cool night air. The men on the wall high above barked and roared as the pair of beasts bent to feed and the air filled with the sound of tearing flesh and the copper odor of fresh blood. Hynd motioned to the others to retreat further back into the foliage.

  “Those spears up on the wall have got us covered. We’re not getting out that way.”

  They retreated into the dark until they could barely see their own faces, the slightest of red flickers from the torches up on the wall the only illumination.

  “Who’s in charge here?” a woman’s voice said, too loud at his back. Hynd knew the tone well—somebody was used to command and not used to being denied. Out in the clearing, one of the raptors looked up from its feeding and cocked its head to one side, listening. Hynd did what he had to do and nipped things in the bud fast.

  “I’m in charge,” he whispered, letting his anger show in his tone. “And don’t you forget it. Now shut the fuck up if you want to live past the next few minutes.”

  He couldn’t see the speaker but heard a sharp intake of breath clearly enough. No answering retort came out of the dark and the raptor, after a hard glare in their direction, went back to feeding.

  “Slowly now,” Hynd said in a whisper that was more of a sibilant hiss. “Back up as far as you can. Mind your footing. Twenty yards at least, then we’ll see what’s what. Davies, take point; I’ve got your back.”

  As they moved through the undergrowth, Hynd realized that there had been no more gunfire from the other side of the wall. All he heard was a distant barking and roaring, almost cheering, but even that seemed to be fading into the distance.

  John and Wiggo have got problems of their own. We can’t count on help any time soon.

  Seconds later, he walked into Wilkins’ back and found the small group of rescued WHO people gathered in a natural clearing in a circle of dense foliage. Davies had lit his rifle light and was using it to check the perimeter. Hynd switch on his own light and keeping the beam wide and soft panned it around the pale, wide-e
yed faces of those they’d just rescued.

  “Who speaks for you?” he whispered.

  A woman’s voice—the same one from earlier—answered. He aimed the light that way and looked into the eyes of a thin, stern-gazed woman. She was as tall as Hynd and carried herself upright, although her eyes and the lines at the corner of her mouth told of far too much recent pain.

  “I’m Doctor Henderson. If anyone’s in charge now, I suppose it’s me.”

  “Do you know a way out of here?” Hynd asked and got a bitter laugh in reply.

  “Out? I don’t even know how we got in. I thought you were the cavalry?”

  “In normal circumstances, yes, but not tonight. First things first. Is anybody hurt?”

  “We’re all just hungry, tired, and scared shitless.”

  “Apart from that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?” Hynd said. He had no idea why he’d said it but it felt natural, and it actually got him a tired smile in reply.

  “Don’t think we’re not grateful,” the woman said. “It’s just been a long couple of days.”

  “I can understand. Just follow our lead. We’ll get you all home.”

  Davies and Wilkins distributed some dry biscuits and water. The group took to it as if it was caviar and champagne.

  “Davies is carrying a wee stove and some hot rations too,” Hynd added. “But that’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere a bit more secure. Everybody ready to move?”

  The woman doctor checked her people then nodded to Hynd.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re on the wrong side of yon bloody gate,” he replied. “Let’s see what we can do to rectify that. We’ll head west for a bit and look for a way up onto the rim of the crater. They obviously built the gate to keep the beasties in. But beasties like us can climb better than yon raptors. Let’s go and see.”

  They moved out, Davies once again taking point, Wilkins with the group of the rescued, and Hynd bringing up the rear.

  With every step, Hynd expected either a spear in the back or the rush of a slavering beast out of the dark but neither came. They walked in what was now almost complete silence, heading west along an animal track punctuated with occasional piles of what looked like deer droppings. Two of the rescued medical team had to be helped by their friends, each of them taking turns supporting the extra weight, but everyone stayed upright. They made good progress for ten minutes before coming to a halt before what appeared to be a sheer rock face.

  “I think I can see a way up, Sarge,” Wilkins said after they’d all had a look up into the dark.

  “What, ten minutes in the jungle and now you’re bloody Tarzan?”

  “No, really,” the young private said. “I’ve done a bit of rock climbing back home. I know what I’m about.”

  “And that gammy leg of yours? Does it ken what it’s about too?”

  “The leg will hold up,” Wilkins said. “I can do this. I can get us up there.”

  “I’ve done some climbing too,” a slightly accented voice said at their back. They turned to see a man, pale eyes in a heavy tan, thick black hair, and teeth that looked too white in the light from the gun sight.

  “It’ll be good to have somebody have my back,” Wilkins said, and Hynd saw that the last few months of the lad’s life had come down to this. He’d struggled hard with the bad leg after the Norwegian caper; he was due a chance.

  A barking roar from somewhere to the east made Hynd’s mind up for him. Standing around here was only going to get them eaten.

  “All right, lad, off you go. But remember, the rest of us are not experts. If you’re to find us a way up, it’s got to be one we can all take. We all go, or no one goes.”

  Wilkins gave him a mock salute and with the black-haired man right behind him following in his hand and footholds, he began to head up the rock. After less than a minute, Wilkins called down.

  “It gets easy just a little way up. There’s a beaten track along a ledge going away to the west. We should be able to follow it up. Start sending people along after us…the doc here will call out the hand and footholds and I’ll have a reccy higher up.”

  Anything’s better than just standing here.

  “Davies, you start getting folks up the wall. I’ll watch our backs. If I start shooting, try to cover me—I’ll be hotfooting it to the wall.”

  The woman doctor took charge of organizing her people, coordinating with the doctor above in getting them all up to where the doc stood on a ledge some twelve feet up. Within minutes, there was only her, Davies, and Hynd himself left on the ground. It was too early to be congratulating themselves; the barking roars were once again echoing around them, closer now than before.

  “You next, ma’am,” Hynd said, and that got him another thin smile.

  “Call me that again and I’ll have to hit you,” she replied.

  “Hey, it’s not as if we’re engaged or anything,” he said, again wondering what caused him to suddenly be so flippant. Whatever it was, it got him a full-on grin this time.

  “The name’s Debs, not Ellen,” she said, turning away. “And I can look after myself.”

  Now Davies was grinning too.

  “What are you so bloody happy about?” Hynd said.

  “Don’t mind me, Sarge,” Davies replied. “I just want to get out of this chickenshit outfit.”

  Seconds later, Hynd stood with his back to the wall while Davies reached for the first handhold overhead. He looked up to see the woman doctor going up as if born to it, already reaching for the hand of her companion on the ledge. Seeing she was safe, he turned his attention back to the jungle and the dark shadows under the canopy. Now was when he was at his most exposed and he knew that if the beasts had any intelligence about them at all, they’d know it too. A glance upward again showed him that Wilkins was nowhere to be seen—he’d get no cover from that front. And with Davies still climbing, it would be folly for Hynd to leave his position and turn his back on the forest.

  Despite every fiber of his being telling him to flee, he stood his ground, not looking back or up, gauging Davies’ progress by the small sounds of scuffing feet and mumbled curses.

  “Any time you’re ready, son,” Hynd whispered as a barking roar echoed around them; it had sounded like it had come from right next to his ear. He raised his rifle and swung the light around under the overhanging branches.

  The glare caught a pair of glittering eyes looking directly at him, eyes that were some seven feet off the ground and several inches apart. A raptor stood there, silent and watching in the dark.

  “Sarge?” he heard Davies say above him.

  “Aye, I see it, lad,” Hynd replied. “Have you got my back?”

  “I’ve got a bead on it right now. Should I take the shot?”

  “No. We ken there’s more than one of these buggers about. They might be pulling our tadgers. I’m going to turn to the wall now though so if it moves, blow the fucker away.”

  “Best get your arse in gear then, Sarge. If that thing gets up a head of steam, I’m not sure I’ve got the firepower to stop it.”

  Hynd’s back felt too exposed as he turned, expecting the sound of rustling foliage and tramping feet that would be the last thing he’d ever hear. He had to force himself to reach for the first handhold.

  “Talk to me, lad,” he said as he pulled himself up, his left foot trying to find purchase where his hand had just been…and failing, leaving him dangling, weight on one hand.

  “Left…no, your other left, six inches and you’ll get your toehold.”

  “Is yon beastie still watching me?”

  “Aye. Still there, and not moving.”

  He finally found the toehold, let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and began to reach for the next handhold but wasn’t given time to reach it.

  “Fuck,” Davies said clearly as a barking roar split the air. A second later, Hynd was deafened as Davies fired three rounds only a couple of yards above his head.

 
There was no thought in Hynd’s next action. He let go of his handhold, pushed away from the wall, and was turning as he fell, already reaching for his weapon. He hit the ground solidly, flexing his knees to keep his balance, swung up his weapon, and for the first time looked up. The raptor was only yards away and coming on like a train. Blood showed at its chest where Davies’ shots had hit their mark but they hadn’t held enough power to slow the steamroller. The beast’s jaws opened, slavering bloody saliva as if already anticipating a meal. Hynd stood his ground, put two shots down its throat, then leapt to one side as the raptor hit the wall where he’d just been standing. He was able to take two steps aside. As the beast, already dying but still game for more, turned its gaze on him, he put two more shots into its left eye.

  “Are there any more of these fuckers?” he said to Davies where the young private was looking down at him.

  “Naw. I think they’re feart of the new king of the jungle,” Davies said with a grin.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Hynd replied. “Even Tarzan needs a hand sometimes. Tell me where the fucking handholds are. I need to get the hell out of this hole.”

  In the end, the climb went simply. The jungle stayed quiet and a minute later, Hynd was up on the ledge with Davies and the others looking down at the dead body of the raptor.

  “These boogers are supposed to be extinct,” the black-haired doctor said on the far side of Davies. Hynd laughed grimly.

  “I don’t think they give a fuck. Now, where’s that wee bugger Wilko? Has he found us a way off this cliff yet?”

  Wilkins’ pale face showed in the gloom some five yards away up a narrow track.

  “It gets steeper again higher up, Sarge,” the private said. “But I’ve found us a defensible spot. There’s a cave up there big enough for us all to hunker down for the night in. It’s not safe to try climbing higher in the dark.”

  “Aye, I agree. And a cave, you say? Luxury. Lay on, MacDuff. Led us to it.”