Operation Amazon

by William Meikle

  “This is fucking weird, even for us, Cap,” Hynd said.

  “It’s their leader,” Buller added, and at first Banks didn’t understand, until he bent and had a closer look at the dead man. There was no doubt about it. Despite the bullet wounds, Banks saw it was the tall one who’d led the occupants of the temple complex in their earlier capture.

  “How did he get here?” Hynd said.

  “I think they probably swam,” Banks replied.

  McCally spoke from out in the hallway.

  “They’re all like that, Sarge,” he said. “All the fucking snakes are now dead people, men and women both. How the fuck does that work?”

  “I’ll be buggered if I know, lad, but I’d feel better if we got these bodies out of here.” He turned to Buller. “Where do you keep the gasoline?”

  *

  Ten minutes later, they stood in the docking area watching the bodies burn. They’d dragged each one out individually, then piled them in a pyre on the deck by the waterside. Banks had them put Giraldo, now man again for the last time, on the top, then they doused the whole lot in gasoline and set it alight. They had to stand back as the pyre went up with a whoosh and surge that threatened to singe their eyebrows.

  Nobody felt like speaking, and they all stood in silence. The burning went fast and furious, the bodies being rendered to ash and bone in a matter of minutes. When the flames finally started to die down, Wiggins stepped forward and kicked at the pile. It tumbled over into the river with a distinct hiss, and dispersed quickly, leaving only an oily scum on the surface to show for the lives of the dead. Even that was quickly dispersed, and soon the only sign they had ever been was a burned scar on the deck where the pyre had been.

  Banks headed back inside, not for the beer, but for a drop of something harder. He fetched the bottle he’d seen earlier from the office, took it through to the mess area, and poured them all, even Buller, a finger of Scotch.

  “To Giraldo, the poor auld bugger,” he said, and knocked the whisky back in one. He took a pack of cigarettes from the table, lit a smoke, and stashed the rest of the packet and lighter in his pocket before turning to Buller.

  “The choppers will be here inside the hour,” he said. “We can all go home, right now, and be back in Scotland with a breakfast fry up and a pot of tea before you know it.”

  Buller finished his own drink before replying.

  “We’re not going back without the gold. Don’t you see? It’s even easier now. You’ve killed most of them. I never saw more than 20 at the temple, and you put that many down here tonight. The place will be empty. All we’ve got to do is waltz in, make sure everything’s quiet, and sit on it. All that gold we saw is ours for the taking.”

  “If we get a vote, I’d rather have the fry up,” Wiggins said.

  Buller smiled again, that same eminently punchable smirk that Banks was coming to loathe.

  “This isn’t a fucking democracy,” he said, addressing Banks. “You’ve got your orders. I’m in charge here.”

  “Look around you,” Wiggins replied. “You couldn’t manage a fuck in a brothel.”

  “That’s enough, Wiggo,” Banks said. “The man’s right on one thing, we’ve got our orders. Go and be a soldier. You and Cally walk the perimeter and make sure there’s no more buggering snakes about. The sarge and I will babysit the wanker for a bit.”

  Buller looked like he wanted to be offended, but wouldn’t meet Bank’s gaze and went to sit in his office without another word.

  Hynd picked up the whisky bottle and waved it toward Banks with an eyebrow raised.

  “No, put it away, Sarge,” he replied. “Orders is orders. We’ve got to watch that bastard’s back and get him back to yon temple. God help us.”

  “So what are we dealing with? Fucking shapeshifters?”

  “I told you what I saw at the pyramid. You saw it for yourself just now, Sarge. And you saw what a bite did for Giraldo. So rule one: Don’t get fucking bitten. We’re going to get Buller to his temple, get it secured, then fuck off and leave him and his rich pals to it.”

  Hynd smiled thinly.

  “As Wiggo would say, that sounds like a fucking plan to me.”

  *

  The whop of approaching choppers sounded in the night air and the squad, with Buller at their back, were all outside waiting as the two craft approached and landed on the wide deck at the docking area. Banks saw that they were Russian-built, Mil Mi-24s, with Brazilian Air Force Insignia.

  They waited for the rotors to stop, then greeted the crew as they disembarked. As Banks had guessed, the four pilots were all Brazilian, but their English was as good as Giraldo’s had been, and he had no trouble briefing them in the kitchen. If they noticed the blood smears that the squad hadn’t quite managed to clean up, they were too professional to make note of it.

  “We were told there was a sick man to transport,” their senior officer, a captain by his insignia, said. “We should send him back straight away before we talk anymore.”

  “He didn’t make it,” Banks said bluntly, and again the pilots were too professional to make anything of it. He explained the plan of action, and gave them a rundown of what would be waiting for them in the highlands at their destination. One of them made the sign of the cross and muttered a prayer under his breath at the mention of the temple in the highlands upriver.

  “We’ll go at first light,” he said when he was done.

  “Bugger that. We go now,” Buller replied.

  “No, we don’t,” Banks said. “You might be in charge, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow you to get away with fucking stupidity. We are not going into a blind situation in the dark. I won’t put my men at risk that way, orders or no orders.”

  “Then I’ll see you busted back to private on our return, and I’ll just take these local chaps. We’ll go without you,” Buller said, and looked to the Brazilian crew. Banks was pleased to see they were as professional as he’d expected.

  “I’m afraid I must agree with Captain Banks,” the chief officer said. “Going blind into the dark is something only an idiot would contemplate, especially on this river. We go in the morning.”

  Buller blustered and complained. He made threats. Then he tried offering bribes. All that got him was contempt, and once again, he left to sulk in his office.

  “I do not think I like him very much,” the Brazilian captain said.

  “Then you and I should get along just fine,” Banks replied, and got a grin in return.

  Banks set up a watch schedule for what little was left of the night, and told the squad to get any rest they could manage.

  “We’ve got a big day ahead of us, and I need us all sharp.”

  Dawn was approaching all too quickly.

  - 17 -

  Banks and Hynd took the last watch two hours before dawn. The sergeant went straight to the choppers for a closer look at them.

  “They’re old, but the Ruskies built these things to last. They’ll get a job done,” he said, looking at the mounted ordnance. “Half-inch Yak-B Gatling guns, carrying maybe 1500 rounds of ammo per gun. These rockets under the wings are 9K114 Shturm mounts, two-pound warheads, six missiles in each wing.”

  “Enough for a big bang then?” Banks said.

  “Aye. We’ve enough between these two beasts for a lot of big bangs. These are normally anti-tank missiles. We’ve got enough to blow the top off yon temple and level the causeway back to base rock.”

  “I don’t think that’s what the colonel had in mind when he told us to secure the site,” Banks replied with a grin. “But it’ll be nice to have the option available if we need it.”

  They made a tour of the perimeter of the facility while smoking another cigarette each. The banks of the river on either side were dark lines of deeper shadow, and the river itself shone and shimmered under the blanket of stars with only wispy clouds passing quickly over to obscure the view.

  “Do you think the wanker was right, Cap?” Hynd asked as they
approached the docking deck on their return. “About us having got most of them already?”

  Banks shrugged.

  “Who knows?” he said. “I only saw about 20 or so myself, like he says. But that doesn’t mean there’s not more of the fuckers. And we know fuck all about these things. We don’t know where they come from, whether they breed or not, or how big they get. Let’s not have any assumptions in mind going in.”

  “Maybe they were all like Giraldo? Maybe you only get it by getting bit?”

  “Maybe aye, maybe naw,” Banks replied. “All we know is that they can be put down fast with a bullet or two. So as long as we’re tooled up, and don’t lose our rifles again, we can get the job done. Don’t over think it, Sarge. I have a cunning plan. We get in, secure the site, and don’t get dead.”

  *

  Dawn came between the acts of them lighting another cigarette each and finishing it, a soft orange glow in the eastern sky that ate the night in a matter of minutes. On cue, biting insects started to swarm across the rippling surface of the river, and the day immediately warmed, a hot kiss full of promises of later fire.

  Banks flicked his butt away and watched until the current took it away out of sight downstream.

  “Time to go to work. Fetch the others, Sarge. Let’s get this day started.”

  Within a few minutes, the squad were all out on the deck and ready to load the choppers with what little gear they had left.

  “Who is traveling with who?” the Brazilian captain asked.

  “Buller, you’re in the second chopper,” Banks said. “You’ll hold off with them away from the main site until we get it secured. The rest of us will load up with the captain here and go in first.”

  “Nope, no way,” Buller said. “This is my find. I’ll be with you when you secure it. Remember, I’m in charge of this operation.”

  “We’ve had this discussion already,” Banks said.

  “And I gave in then. But not this time. There’s no danger, I’m telling you. They’re all fucking dead already.”

  “I’m all out of fucks to give for what you think,” Banks replied. “So come with us, if that’s what you want. But I’m not responsible if you screw up, agreed?”

  He saw doubt in the other man’s eyes, but the greed overrode it.

  “Agreed,” Buller said.

  Banks played his high card.

  “Okay then. Wiggo, you’re on babysitting duty for the duration. Shoot him if he does anything that might jeopardize the rest of us. That’s an order.”

  Wiggins’ wide grin more than made up for Buller’s surly demeanor as they loaded up into the first of the choppers.

  *

  After lift-off, the noise from the rotors precluded any conversation in the cabin. Wiggins sat opposite Buller, saying nothing, but grinning while staring straight at the man, which only made Buller squirm all the more.

  “Suit up, lads,” Banks shouted, and opened the kit bags.

  Each man wore a light camouflage suit, to which they each added a helmet with an attached pair of night vision goggles. They all wore thin but sturdy waterproof boots and a lightweight flak jacket with pouches filled with spare magazines for their weapons.

  And this time we won’t be giving them away. No matter what comes at us.

  Buller was the odd man out, wearing a thin shirt, canvas trousers, and sneakers on his feet. Banks found a flak jacket stowed under a seat and had Buller put it on. He still wished he could leave the man behind; having a civilian along complicated matters.

  But I got an order. I’ll follow it. I’m a soldier—it’s what I do.

  He went up front and motioned that he wanted to talk. The captain passed him a headset so they could communicate privately. He had to take off his own helmet to wear it, but after a test could hear the captain clearly.

  “If you have to hover, how long can you stay?” he asked.

  “An hour, Captain, no more than that. But you said the area has an open roadway of paved stone? Landing should not be a problem.”

  “It’s the taking off again that has me worried,” Banks replied, but didn’t elaborate. His attention was drawn to the view out of the main window to the front of the pilots. The jungle, a carpet of infinite shades and hues of green, lay across from horizon to horizon with the river winding through it, a great shining snake leisurely going about its business with no concern for the world of men. The only thing breaking above the flat expanse of greenery was a series of rocky outcrops on the far horizon, getting closer so fast that Banks could already make out the pyramid that market the highest point.

  “Five minutes,” the Brazilian captain said.

  *

  The two choppers circled the temple complex 100 feet above the top of the pyramid. There was no sign any life, no sign of any movement at all. They did two passes to be sure, then the chopper captain had his second craft move to an outcrop a mile away to the north that was big enough for a landing. He turned to Banks and pointed to the widest part of the causeway that ran along the ridge of the hill.

  “I will set down there,” he said. “And I will only take off if we come under sustained attack. We will wait for your return there. We have got your back, Captain.”

  Banks gave him a thumbs-up, handed back the headset, and went back to his seat for the landing.

  It went smoothly and without a hitch. A minute later, the chopper was on the ground, and the squad was getting out of the vessel. The captain passed Banks the same headset they’d used earlier. After a few seconds, he figured out how he could clip the piece to his ear so that he could wear both headset and helmet. Once he was happy that any sudden movement wouldn’t lead to the loss of either, the pilot spoke at his ear.

  “This is good for 100 meters line of sight,” he said. “It will not work well in a building or through rock, but we will be here and ready to come to your aid if you call for it.”

  Banks gave him another thumbs up, and jumped to the ground, running out from under the rotors to join the squad on the causeway.

  *

  The whump of the rotors slowed and ceased when the captain switched off, and Banks was able to speak normally, keeping his voice low as he directed the squad.

  “I want a sweep of everything above ground here first,” he said. “Wiggo and Buller with me on the left, Sarge and Cally on the right, and join up at the foot of yon pyramid. Shoot first, question later, and shout if you find anything hinky.”

  Buller spoke up, almost shouting.

  “We need to get down to the cave with the gold, right now.”

  “No,” Wiggo replied, barely above a whisper, but leaning in close to Buller’s face so that his meaning could not be any clearer. “What we need is for you to be a good wanker, shut the fuck up, keep quiet, and not get us killed. Or do you want a skelp?”

  Buller wisely went quiet, and followed, sandwiched between Banks and Wiggins, as they headed left toward the first of the tumbled ruins that lined the causeway.

  - 18 -

  Banks moved slowly toward the nearest doorway opening. The sun was already climbing high, throwing the inside of the building into shadows that were almost black. He switched on the light on his rifle and stepped cautiously forward.

  He’d expected crude living quarters, or possibly a storage area for food, so what he found inside surprised him.

  The first hint was when his gun’s light reflected back, yellow and gold, from the wall directly ahead. He moved the light around. He had walked into a room some 12 feet square and eight feet high, and every inch of wall and roof was covered in tiles, squares of eight inches each, and all, by the look of it, carved in thick, solid slabs of gold.

  Wiggins whistled as he followed Banks and Buller inside.

  “What the fuck is this now, Cap? Fucking Eldorado?”

  “Maybe it is at that,” Buller said, and Banks turned to see if the man was joking, but he looked deadly serious.

  “Legends usually start somewhere in fact,” Buller added.


  “Tell me about it,” Banks replied. He shone his rifle barrel’s light around, but there was nothing in the room apart from the carvings on the wall.

  “Wait,” Buller said. “Hold the light steady and let me have a closer look.”

  There was little sign of the smugness he’d shown earlier; there was now only a wide-eyed face of childlike wonder. For once, Banks could completely understand what the other man was feeling. He did as requested and held the light steady over a patch of the wall. Buller studied it closely.

  “I’m no expert,” the man said after a few minutes. “But this looks like some kind of story, maybe a history.”

  “If so, it’s one that’ll have to wait until we’re secure,” Banks replied. “Wiggo, next building. Let’s make this a quick sweep. I don’t want us to be still fucking about here when it gets dark again.”

  *

  The next building was tumbled in ruin, the roof long gone and only fragments of the walls left standing but they were amazed to see more of the gold tiles, lying, discarded in piles on the ground, with vines and roots growing through them.

  “They’ve got so much of it. It has no value to them,” Buller said in a hushed voice, as if the very idea of it appalled him.

  “Well it’s no’ as if they’re going to be down the club on a Saturday night blowing the lot on booze, blow, strippers and fags, is it?” Wiggins replied. “Although maybe we should get the kit bags from the chopper and fill them up with some of these wee shiny tiles, Cap? Might help with our pensions?”

  Banks laughed.

  “Sounds like a fucking plan to me, Wiggo. Maybe on the way back,” he said. “But first let’s make sure this place is as dead as it feels.”

  ‘Dead’ was exactly how it felt. If Banks hadn’t known better, he’d have said that no one had been here except themselves for many years. It had that same sense of empty loss that he often got from visiting remote and abandoned homesteads back in the Highlands of home. The weather was better here, and they didn’t have mounds of gold tiles just lying around unclaimed in the Scottish hills, more’s the pity, but he felt the same sense of sadness and longing for a past long gone in this place that he did across the sea.