by Jim Eldridge
‘When?’ asked Benny.
‘Any second now,’ said Mitch.
As they watched, the leader let go of the kneeling man’s hair, grabbed the man’s left hand and pulled it out from his side. The women began to scream as the machete was swung back.
Bang! In one movement Nelson had brought his rifle up to his shoulder, switched it to single shot, and fired. The bullet took the leader right through the head, and he fell sideways, eyes wide in surprise.
The two men sitting on the jeep gaped, stunned at the sight of their leader’s body tumbling heavily to the ground. Then they sprang into action, rifles leaping into their hands. But the unit was already moving.
A spray of automatic fire from Two Moons and Gaz took out the other two men near the jeep.
‘Save the hostages!’ shouted Nelson.
Mitch, Benny and Tug were already running towards the village men standing with their hands on their heads, now looking terrified. The two armed bandits by them hesitated, still shocked by what had happened to their leader.
Benny let fly a hail of bullets and one of the bandits crumpled to the ground. The other bandit turned and began to run.
Bang!
A burst of fire from Tug took the fleeing bandit’s legs from under him and he crashed to the ground, screaming with pain.
‘We’ve got one prisoner at least,’ grunted Tug.
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ murmured Mitch.
As the unit watched, they realised the women had broken away from their previous position and were running towards the wounded bandit. As they ran, they gathered up their farming tools: axes, picks, shovels and rakes. They were still shouting and wailing, but these were now screams of triumph and revenge, not of fear.
‘They’re going to kill him?’ asked Gaz.
‘That’s the general idea,’ said Mitch.
‘We have to stop them!’ said Tug, and he fired a burst of gunfire into the air.
The running women stopped, hesitated, then carried on.
‘Do something!’ snapped Tug. ‘You know the language, Mitch. Shout at them! Tell them to stop!’
‘Why?’ Mitch shrugged. ‘These bandits will have been living off the people of this village like parasites for ages. Looting, torturing, murdering.’
As he spoke, the women had reached the fallen bandit and had begun striking him with their farm implements. The bandit’s screams ceased.
‘You stupid idiot!’ Tug raged angrily at Mitch. ‘We could have got some intel from that prisoner! Information about the rebels. Now he’s dead we won’t find out anything!’
‘Yes, we will,’ said Mitch calmly. ‘And a lot quicker and more truthfully.’ He gestured at the villagers, who were now approaching them, slowly and warily, but with their hands held out in a gesture of peace and with smiles of gratitude on their faces. ‘We’ve just made ourselves some new and very useful friends.’
8
While the men of the village and the rest of the unit disposed of the bandits’ bodies, Mitch and Nelson sat down to talk to the leader of the village. His name, he told them, was Adwana, and these bandits had been terrorising his village for a very long time. At least, that was the impression Nelson got from the gestures Adwana made with his arms and hands, stretching them out to show a long length of time, accompanied by the clicking noises and almost singsong rhythms of the native language.
‘You understand all this?’ Nelson asked Mitch.
‘Most of it,’ replied Mitch. He turned back to Adwana. ‘We’re here to help Joseph Mwanga,’ he said, using the same mixture of tonal sounds and clicks.
Adwana nodded. ‘We heard there were strangers coming to save Mwanga,’ he told Mitch. ‘The bandits said so.’ Adwana spat on the ground to show his disgust at the word ‘bandits'. ‘They wanted to know if we had seen anyone dressed like you. Like soldiers. American. British.’
So they did know we were coming, thought Mitch.
Mitch and Adwana talked while Nelson listened. Nelson hadn’t a clue what either man was saying, but he could tell by the body language, the way they were using their hands to explain themselves, that the conversation was going well. Adwana was keen to give as much help as he could to the men who had saved his hand, and his people.
At one point Adwana turned and called another man over. Nelson gathered that this man was called Oba, and soon Mitch, Adwana and Oba were engaged in a three-way conversation that went on for some time. Mitch gently asked questions, listening and nodding as Adwana and Oba replied.
A couple of times Nelson noticed that Mitch seemed puzzled by an answer, and when that happened he frowned and repeated what either Adwana or Oba had said, with a few additional questioning words in Igbo himself, until he had made sure he’d understood the answer correctly. Then, Mitch would smile, nod and move on.
By the time Mitch seemed satisfied, and the conversation had ended with smiles and handshakes all round, the light was fading.
Nelson smelt food cooking, and noticed that the women of the village were preparing something in a pot over a fire.
‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘It’s supper time.’
Mitch nodded. ‘And we’re the honoured guests.’ As Mitch saw Nelson’s eyes stray to his watch and his mouth open to argue, Mitch added hastily: ‘It would be rude to refuse. Eating with an invited guest is very important to these people. We’ll be seriously insulting them if we leave now – and we need their help.’
Nelson hesitated, then nodded.
The sounds of the other village men and soldiers approaching made them look up.
‘All tidied up,’ said Tug. ‘We can move on.’
‘It seems we can’t,’ said Nelson. ‘Local tradition says we have to eat.’
Two Moons grinned. ‘No argument from me,’ he said. ‘That food smells great. A lot better than our emergency rations.’
‘What have they told you?’ Benny asked Nelson.
Nelson jerked his thumb at Mitch. ‘I’m hoping that’s what Mitch is going to tell us while we eat,’ he said. ‘And I hope they ain’t just been talking about the weather and crops.’
By now night had fallen. As always in the tropics, it happened quickly. One moment it was daylight, the next, following a very brief period that could have been described as dusk, it was dark.
The men of Delta Unit joined the villagers sitting on the ground near the fires that sent showers of sparks into the dark sky, and on which the food was cooking.
Benny picked a piece of food from his wooden bowl and sniffed it, before popping it into his mouth.
‘Smoked fish,’ he said. ‘It’s good.’
‘It’s what everyone here eats,’ Mitch told him. ‘That, and monkey meat.’
‘Mitch, can we move on from this gourmet-chef stuff and get on with what these guys told you?’ asked Nelson, a touch of impatience in his tone.
Mitch nodded. ‘The group holding Mwanga is led by a warlord called Justis Ngola,’ he said. ‘For good measure, it just so happens that the bandit chief with the gold headband we just took out is a cousin of this same Justis Ngola.’
‘So this is a family business,’ commented Tug.
‘Do they know why Mwanga was kidnapped in the first place?’ asked Benny.
‘The word is that someone very important paid Justis Ngola a lot of money to have Mwanga captured and killed.’
‘So Mwanga’s dead?’ asked Gaz ruefully.
Mitch shook his head. ‘No. According to Adwana, Mwanga is still alive and being kept hostage by Ngola and his men.’
‘Why?’ asked Tug. ‘If this Ngola was paid to kill Mwanga, whoever paid him is either going to start looking for revenge, or his money back.’
‘Ngola’s only been paid half the money. He gets the balance when Mwanga is found dead. But, like many criminals, Ngola is hoping to make a bit more out of it. He’s realised what a special commodity he’s got on his hands, so he’s upped the price to the original buyer, and at the same time he’s planning to see if an
yone else will offer a better price. In the end, the highest bidder gets Mwanga. Alive, if they want him that way, or dead. It makes no difference to Ngola. But he’ll only hand over the goods once he’s been paid the money.’
‘Do these people know where Ngola is holding Mwanga?’
‘Adwana says it’s a big place where people stay. It sounds like it used to be a hotel of some sorts. Now it’s been taken over by Ngola as his headquarters. It’s about ten miles away from here. According to the villagers, Ngola has turned it into a fortress.’
‘OK.’ Benny sat back. ‘So we’ve got what we want.’
‘We’ve got better than that,’ grinned Mitch. He gestured at Oba who was now sitting near them, watching the soldiers as he ate his meal. ‘Oba here says he’ll take us to the place.’
‘Can we trust him?’ asked Tug. ‘He could be leading us into a trap. He could be getting a handsome pay-off if he betrays us to the rebels.’
‘I’m with Tug,’ agreed Benny. ‘These people have given us information – surely that’s enough. Why put themselves at real risk by siding with us against the rebels? If he’s caught, the village will suffer even more than it already has.’
‘Oba’s wife and his brother were killed by those bandits,’ explained Mitch. ‘He says he wants to show his thanks to us for killing them. Plus, our friend, Gold Headband, was from the same tribe as the rebels,’ replied Mitch. ‘These people are a different tribe. The tribal thing is very big here.’
‘It’s big everywhere,’ said Two Moons. ‘Rival gangs in Los Angeles, New York.’
‘Newcastle, Liverpool,’ agreed Gaz. ‘Different people, same problem.’
‘OK,’ said Nelson. ‘We take up Oba’s very kind offer. Let’s eat up and go.’
Mitch held up his hand. ‘We don’t go that quickly,’ he said. ‘Adwana and Oba say it’s bad magic to go through the jungle at night. Hungry animals are there. Lots of places to sink in swamps.’
‘So? Tell him we’ve got night-vision goggles,’ said Nelson. ‘Tell him we do some of our best work at night.’
‘We might, he doesn’t,’ said Mitch.
‘He could borrow a night-vision set,’ suggested Gaz. ‘I’ve got a spare in my pack.’
Mitch shook his head. ‘It’s more than that,’ he said. ‘It’s about the bad magic.’
The others exchanged thoughtful looks. They all knew how important local customs were. If you wanted to win the hearts and minds of local people, you respected their customs and traditions.
Nelson nodded. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘So when is good for us to go?’
Mitch turned to Oba and asked him a question. Oba replied, and Mitch turned to the others.
‘First thing tomorrow morning, just before dawn. Oba says the magic isn’t so strong then, even though it’s still dark. Let’s face it, that jungle was difficult enough terrain during daylight hours. At night, even with night vision, the chances of us sinking in mud or getting stuck are pretty high.’
Nelson thought it over, and then agreed.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘It’ll give us time to check our equipment, and grab a bit of shut-eye.’ He checked his watch. ‘Turn and turn about: three sleep, three on watch. Gaz, Tug and Benny, you three grab some sleep first. I’ll take first watch with Mitch and Two Moons.’
9
Mitch and Two Moons sat back to back at the edge of the village so they could keep watch on a full 360 degrees, taking in the village and the jungle. Nelson was on his own, patrolling the perimeter, rifle at the ready. The village was quiet. Everyone else was asleep. The fires had burnt down and now only ash glowed red amongst the grey of the embers in the cooking pits.
Around them, the jungle resonated with the sounds of the night animals: chitter chattering, slithering and an occasional howling.
‘Guess those are the bad spirits out there,’ murmured Two Moons.
‘Guess so,’ said Mitch.
Two Moons shook his head and said, ‘Here we are, with gizmos to get us through any situation, and we take advice about not going through the jungle at night from a guy who believes in magic.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d have a problem with that,’ responded Mitch, with a wry smile. ‘When I was in Arizona I met a whole bunch of Native Americans talking about being guided by spirits.’
‘That’s different,’ said Two Moons. ‘Our beliefs don’t stop us using modern things. Some of our people believe we should only ride horses and use bows and arrows to hunt, because that’s what our ancestors did. Me, I can chase a buffalo faster in a jeep than I can on a horse and I can shoot it quicker and cleaner with a rifle.’
‘You hunt buffalo?’ asked Mitch, impressed.
‘Well, no,’ admitted Two Moons. ‘I prefer a good beef burger. But if I was going to hunt, I’d use a rifle and four wheels. Each to their own.’
‘If you think about it, Adwana’s belief in magic is no different to a modern army being given a blessing by a priest before they go into battle.’ Mitch shrugged. ‘It’s just a different sort of magic, that’s all.’
‘You don’t believe in magic, Mitch?’ asked Two Moons. ‘You don’t believe in any sort of religion?’
Mitch grinned. ‘I believe in everything,’ he said. ‘I’m taking no chances. When I get to heaven, it doesn’t matter what sort of God or juju is there waiting for me, I’m gonna be OK.’
‘You’re just an opportunistic cynic,’ said Two Moons.
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Mitch. ‘And it’s kept me alive so far, so I’m hardly likely to change now.’
Silence descended between them, and they sat there, listening, ears strained for any sounds other than the background noise of the jungle: a metallic click, a boot on brush.
They watched Nelson as he patrolled, eyes and ears always alert.
Two Moons broke the silence: ‘Don’t come down too hard on Tug.’
‘I didn’t think I was,’ said Mitch.
‘It’s in your eyes,’ said Two Moons. ‘You don’t like him.’
‘It’s not a case of liking him or not,’ said Mitch. ‘He makes it pretty clear he’s suspicious of me. But that’s OK.’
‘I’m talking about this business of him not trusting the villagers. He had a bad experience. He was with a unit in Afghanistan that took the word of some locals. The locals sold ‘em out. Tug was the only one that survived. Since then he don’t trust nobody, ‘cept us in Delta Unit.’
‘Which doesn’t include me,’ said Mitch.
‘Not yet,’ said Two Moons. ‘Give him time.’
‘You guys been together long?’
Two Moons nodded. ‘Nearly two years, which – in this business – is a long while for a bunch of guys to stay together as one unit.’
‘What happened to the guy I replaced?’ asked Mitch.
Two Moons shrugged. ‘Joe McNeil,’ he said. ‘He died. He was trying to defuse a bomb. The bastard who rigged it had booby-trapped it.’ He gave a wry sigh. ‘I liked Joe. We all did. He used to make us laugh.’
‘We all lose people in this game,’ said Mitch. ‘It’s the way we live. Doesn’t matter how on the ball we are, we’re always on the edge and one breath away from dying.’
Two Moons laughed. ‘When you say it like that, it sure is a hell of a stupid way to earn a living.’
10
They woke before dawn the next morning, refreshed. Nelson gestured at the bandits’ jeep. ‘They’d better not leave that sitting around,’ he commented to Mitch. ‘If the bad guys show up and see it, this village will be in real big trouble.’
‘I was just thinking the same,’ agreed Mitch. He called Adwana over and passed on Nelson’s advice about getting rid of the jeep, with a few extra tips of his own.
‘What did you tell him?’ asked Nelson after he’d finished.
‘Told him to take it out into the jungle and abandon it as far away as possible. If he can, find a ravine to run it into.’
‘Good,’ said Nelson.
The unit gath
ered up their gear, then set off for the bandit stronghold, with Oba leading the way.
As Mitch had said, with a guide like Oba who knew the jungle like the back of his hand, they covered the ten miles in five hours. On difficult terrain like this, with swamps and deep gulleys to get across, it was fast going.
Suddenly Oba began to slow down and then stopped, his eyes darting around, obviously afraid. The confidence with which he had moved through the jungle suddenly vanished.
‘I think we’re here,’ Mitch murmured to the others.
He whispered something to Oba in Igbo, and Oba nodded, pointing ahead. As gently and as calmly as he could, Mitch talked to Oba, gesturing at the other men of Delta Unit, and assuring Oba that no harm would come to him while they were with him.
Oba nodded slowly, but it was obvious from his face and his body language that he wasn’t convinced. However, he dropped down on to his hands and knees and began crawling slowly forward through the jungle. Delta Unit dropped down too, and followed him.
It took ten minutes of slow and careful crawling through the tangle of bush and tree roots, but at last they could see a huge clearing in the jungle. The clearing was covered in overgrown foliage from ornamental plants and bushes, small trees and shrubs that had once been cultivated and kept neat and tidy, but had now grown wild. Rising up from the rampant vegetation was a dilapidated two-storey-high concrete building. The remains of a tennis court could be seen through the trees, as well as the cracked tiles and empty shell of what had once been a large swimming pool. A faded broken sign hanging on the wall near the main entrance announced it was the ‘Malinawi Hotel'.
‘Nice place to come for a holiday,’ commented Gaz.
The place had obviously been built for better times, in the hope that tourists would come out with their dollars and pounds and bring luxury to the area. Either the tourists hadn’t materialised, or the developer had run out of cash before the place could be completed. Or maybe a civil war had just overtaken the place. Now, the hotel looked like a makeshift fortress. The windows had been boarded up, sheets of wood and corrugated iron nailed into place over them.