African Ice

by Jeff Buick

  “Roger,” Ramage shot back into his mobile unit and started moving. He grabbed Samantha by the arm and pushed her under a fallen log, scooping out some of the surrounding damp earth and throwing it on her. She understood without being told, and smeared the mud and moss on her body as best she could. She watched as Troy raced across the tiny clearing and yanked one of the Saab Bofors RBS 70 missiles. He activated the manual sighting mechanism and aimed it skyward. Seconds later the ground all around him exploded with the impact of hundreds of rounds of machine-gun fire as the chopper let loose on his position. Ramage squeezed the trigger on the missile at the same moment he took a slug in the shoulder. He jerked violently right, throwing the missile off course. The machine gun on the chopper went silent for a moment as the pilot saw the missile trail and went into evasive maneuvers. When the guidance system on the Bofors didn’t kick in and the missile shot harmlessly skyward, the pilot returned to his vantage point and began laying down more fire.

  Troy Ramage rolled to his left and grasped the top of a second missile box. He jerked upward with all his strength, sending the lid flying into the ferns. He armed the missile and propped himself on the empty box as he took aim through the canopy. The gunner zeroed in on him, but not before Ramage squeezed the trigger, firing the second missile. Milliseconds later, Troy took two high-caliber bullets, one in his leg, the other through his right side just under his lung. He collapsed and passed out.

  The pilot saw the vapor trail as the Bofors surface-to-air missile broke the canopy and streaked toward him. He hit the throttle and pushed forward on the stick. But there simply wasn’t enough time to accelerate the machine out of the missile’s path. The tip pushed into the helicopter’s underbelly, then exploded, reducing the machine to a flaming chunk of airborne debris. It dropped straight down, smashing through the canopy and the underlying forest, then hitting the forest floor with a thunderous explosion. The sound dissipated, and once again, aside from the flames lapping at the blackened shell, silence engulfed the jungle. Samantha moved to Troy.

  He was critically injured, but still breathing. She dug through the nearby supplies and found a medical kit. She ripped open a field dressing and pressed it against the wound in his torso. The sulfa drugs and salves on the bandage began to coagulate the blood. She covered him with a blanket and waited.

  McNeil saw the missile hit the chopper just as he cleared the river and broke for cover next to the camp. They had at least five soldiers coming up behind them, and eight more fresh paratroops to the north. He had to get around the camp and position himself between the fresh troops and Samantha. He thought for a moment of joining Samantha and checking on Troy, but that would just waste precious seconds. As he jogged, he reset the Panther unit to a different frequency and hit the send button. Moments later, Billy Hackett’s voice merged with the static.

  “Billy, we need an extraction,” he shouted, spouting off the exact coordinates to the base camp. “At least one wounded. At present, four healthy. You’ll be coming in hot. We’ve got at least thirteen of Mugumba’s men on the ground and heavily armed.”

  “Tell me you’ll pay for my retirement,” Hackett said. “If I save you from government troops, I’ll never work in the Congo again.”

  “Yeah, one million dollars. Just get us out of here.”

  “Two million.”

  “Two is fine, but one in cash and one in raw diamonds. Deal?”

  “Deal. I’m twenty-five minutes out. I’ll bring a ladder for the healthy ones and a sling for the wounded. Get to the edge of the river. I’ll hover at sixty feet. I know the area, and that’s the best I can do.”

  “Roger,” Travis told him and cut the connection. He switched the Panther back to person-to-person and got Porter on line. “Alain, you and Dan have got five coming in behind you. Try to get across the river and help Sam with Troy. I saw him take at least two hits from the chopper guns.”

  “No can do, Travis,” the reply came back a few moments later. Gunfire punctuated his words. “We’re pinned down here. And we’re still on the wrong side of the water. If we try to swim, we’re dead.”

  “Okay, just stay cool. How entrenched are they?”

  “They’ve got the good ground. We were ready to make the crossing when Sam got us on the Panther and told us that she thought she saw something moving behind us. We waited and they opened up on us. If we’d moved into the water, we’d be dead.”

  “Roger that. Keep cool. I’m heading for the drop zone, maybe try to cut off the fresh troops before they get to Sam and Troy. Twenty-five minutes ’til Billy’s here with the chopper. Hang in there.” He let the Panther unit fall to his side and slowed his pace. He had circled the east side of the camp, but had not caught another glimpse of Sam or Troy. She must be keeping him low and under cover. He approached visual distance to the first set of trip wires and stopped moving. He slipped the smaller MINI SS over his shoulder and set up the larger CR21 Assault rifle. Then he waited.

  His mind was racing with what was happening. They had expected Mugumba to attack, but what benefit could there be for the colonel to kill the entire team? Surely they wanted Samantha alive, if only for the location of the diamond vein. Yet they had sprayed the tents with automatic fire—reckless abandon if you wanted to take someone alive. It didn’t make sense. Then a motion off to his left caught his eye and he wiped his mind clean, concentrating on what he did best—surviving.

  A solitary figure, silhouetted black against the tropical green, crept slowly along the path, almost at the trip wire. McNeil steadied the CR21 and waited. He could almost feel the man’s boot snug up against the wire and he certainly saw the result. Two fragmentation grenades exploded simultaneously, shredding the surrounding fifty feet with a lethal wall of jagged metal. The victim was sliced almost in two by the razor-sharp shrapnel. It took a few seconds for the smoke to clear and Travis kept his eyes focused on the area, watching for a second soldier to fill the dead man’s steps. The path remained vacant. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine. There were still seven highly trained soldiers hidden in the jungle, yet not a branch moved. He wiped away a lone bead of sweat as it threatened to drip into his eye. This was not good.

  Troy Ramage was critically injured, perhaps dead. Dan and Alain were pinned down on the wrong side of the river, and he was face to unseeing face with seven elite paratroops. It was a waiting game; the first to move would draw the fire. He checked his watch. Sixteen minutes until Billy arrived. Twelve hostiles within range of their extraction zone. The logistics didn’t work; he had to change the odds. They could rely on covering fire from the chopper once they had one man in the bird. The remaining two, probably he and Dan, could pin down five or six of the enemy from a position next to the extraction zone. Realistically, they needed to eliminate at least five of the ground troops before even attempting to board the chopper.

  McNeil mentally reviewed the defenses they had at their disposal. Aside from the one wire already tripped, three more lay in wait, well camouflaged and deadly. But he needed the soldiers moving to trip them. Then the answer hit him. He grabbed the Panther and called for Samantha. A moment later she responded.

  “Is Troy conscious?” he asked.

  “Yes. He was out for a couple of minutes but he’s awake again. I’ve given him a shot of morphine but he’s still in a lot of pain.”

  “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. There are four small brown boxes next to you. Inside are mortar shells. The larger green box holds the launcher. Get Troy to show you how to set it up, and target two hundred and thirty yards on an azimuth of eighteen degrees. Then lay down a barrage twenty-five yards in every direction. And hurry, we’ve only got ten minutes.”

  He leaned back against a hollow stump and waited. Precious minutes ticked by. He knew Troy and Sam were doing their best to get the gear set up and targeted. Then he heard the low thump of a mortar leaving the tube. Moments later the jungle exploded as the shell crashed to earth. The targeting was off by a few yards, but close
enough to be effective. He picked up movement close to the explosions that were now raining down with regularity. He targeted the movement and squeezed his trigger. The assault rifle coughed and a stream of bullets tore through the ferns and thudded into the soldier, who gasped as the air was forced from his lungs. McNeil heard the killing sound between mortar blasts, then reverted his gaze back to finding another target.

  A swift movement from McNeil’s left to right ended with the soldier tripping a second booby-trap and falling prey to the fragmentation grenades as they exploded. Three down, five to go. More motion to his far right; he aimed and fired. Another hit. Bullets suddenly tore through the bush that obscured him and ripped chunks of wood from the tree behind him. He threw himself hard left and rolled numerous times, coming to rest behind a fallen tree. He looked down for blood but came up empty. They had missed. He checked his watch and noted two minutes until their ride arrived. He slowly raised his head above the horizontal trunk, searching for enemy. Nothing. He slipped the assault rifle over his shoulder, cradled the more maneuverable MINI SS, and beat a retreat back toward the camp.

  He called in to Alain and Dan as he hit the clearing, motioning to Sam to keep the mortars coming. He could hear sporadic gunfire from the far side of the river. Seconds later Alain came online.

  “We’ve nailed two of them for sure. The other three have dropped back a bit. These CR21s are fucking great; they chew through everything. We should have enough time to get across if you can set up some cover fire.”

  “You got it,” Travis yelled back over the din. “Move now; I’ll cover you.”

  He slipped a fresh clip into the assault rifle and waited. A few seconds passed, then movement on the far bank. Alain and Dan burst from the tree line and hit the water running. McNeil aimed into the thick darkness of the jungle and waited. A slight movement at one o’clock caught his eye and he pummeled the area with hot lead. He let the trigger go, waiting for another clue to the enemy’s location. Muzzle flashes at ten o’clock. He swung about, aimed and fired. The thudding sounds changed as the bullets stopped hitting plants and dug into human flesh. Another kill. He stopped again, his breathing rhythmic, his focus intense. His men were almost across. Another muzzle flash and he retaliated. The enemy fire stopped, but he wasn’t sure whether the man was hit. Alain and Dan hit the near bank and ran the few feet into the trees and safety. He breathed deeply. Just the extraction now.

  Travis looked skyward as the distant sounds of helicopter rotors floated down to him. Then he spotted Hackett, on target and coming in fast. The ladder was already hanging below the bird, and as it dropped to sixty feet, Travis could clearly see Hackett’s wife in the copilot seat. She looked scared. Travis waved and Hackett returned the signal. It was time to move.

  Travis motioned for Sam to leave Troy and get on the ladder. She hesitated for a second, then saw the look on his face. It told her to not question him, just move. She left the injured man and climbed onto the wooden rungs, placing foot over foot as quickly as possible. She was halfway up when Travis waved to Alain. Porter made a mad dash for the ladder and began climbing. He and Dan stayed back to back, guns leveled into the surrounding bush, ready to give cover fire. So far, so good. As he looked back to the chopper, he saw the sling being lowered. He shouldered his rifle, yelling at Dan to cover 360 degrees, grabbed Troy and hoisted him onto his shoulder. He beelined for the river and arrived just as the sling reached ground level. In seconds, he had Troy in the sling and gave the signal to begin raising it. Troy moved upward as the first enemy fire targeted in on them.

  Hackett immediately pulled the chopper up, taking Troy out of range as the pulley winched him in. Travis and Dan dove for cover and returned fire. They were taking hostile fire from two directions as the paratroopers moved into the skirmish. Travis turned north and laid down covering fire until his assault rifle clicked, the hammer hitting empty space. He threw it down and leveled his MINI, strafing the underbrush again and again. He looked skyward as the chopper dropped back into place, then yelled at Dan to make a break. The firing behind him stopped as Dan sprinted for the ladder. He counted to four, then broke off firing and started to the chopper. His MINI was almost out of ammo, and he grabbed the Sako sniper rifle on the run. He reached the lowest rung and began to climb.

  Dan was twenty feet up the ladder and moving fast. Billy angled the chopper away from the river and began to climb. Just as Travis thought they were home free, Dan Nelson took four direct hits, the bullets slamming into his back and drilling into his heart and lungs. He hung on the rung for a second, then his grip slackened and he fell earthward. Travis tried to grab him as he careened past, but already the momentum was too great. He watched as his friend’s body plummeted to the earth, landing almost in the center of the slow-moving river. Travis closed his eyes for a moment, knowing from what he’d seen that Dan was dead before his fingers let go of the ladder. Travis resumed climbing as the helicopter rose far above the trees. He reached the top and pulled himself in.

  Travis looked back to the battleground. Numerous troops were wading through the water to where Dan’s body had landed. He watched as they manhandled the corpse, then motioned to Billy to level the chopper out and hover. He slipped the sniper rifle off his shoulder and uncovered the scope. He sighted on the figures, their features recognizable through the highly magnified lens. Then he stopped.

  Colonel Nathan Mugumba strode from the jungle and stood at the river’s edge. Travis drew a bead on the corrupt leader, and chambered a round. He looked quickly to Billy Hackett, who instinctively knew to keep the machine as level as possible for the next few moments. He rested his right cheek against the rifle stock, his eye to the scope, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The gun jerked back with the recoil and for a moment it pointed skyward. He brought it back down and saw the results of his single shot. The short, arrogant Mugumba clutched at his chest as blood spurted out into the muddy water. He stood for a moment on shaky legs, then collapsed. The bullet had torn right through the center of his heart. Travis snapped the safety on the gun and closed the door. He nodded to Billy and the pilot headed for safety.

  McNeil turned to face what was left of his team, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of sadness and anger. He bent over Troy, gingerly lifting up the bandage Samantha had placed over the stomach wound. He breathed a sigh of relief. The bullet had hit at a sharp angle, and he could see that the exit wound was more to Troy’s right side than on his back. No major damage was evident, and Samantha had curtailed the bleeding and already had an IV in him, the bag dangling from the far side of the chopper. He looked at Sam and nodded, thanking her for saving Troy’s life. He looked out the window and watched as the rain-forest canopy spread out below him in all directions.

  The jungle had taken another man. How many times had he escaped only by the grace of God? Why did he continually live while others died? And who decided? He pondered briefly on the possible existence of God, and wondered what the Almighty must think of him: a hired killer. He swallowed, and looked back into the cabin. Samantha was tending to Troy, keeping him warm and watching the fluid levels on his IV. God, what a woman, he thought. She had found the diamonds, a feat that only the most skilled geologists had managed. She had kept her cool through the hellish firefight and saved Troy’s life with quick thinking and even quicker actions. And she had done all that without ego.

  He continued to look at her. The usually shiny hair, flowing gracefully over her shoulders, was not so pretty. It looked bedraggled, dirty and dull. Her face was covered with streaks of mud and moss, and her clothes sweaty and ripped. But the beauty was still there. Her chiseled features, high cheekbones, and intelligent eyes all shone through the dirt and grime. To him, she was even more beautiful. She turned to face him, and for the first time he sensed something that had not been there before—the adoration and love that he felt for her being returned.

  And it felt good.

  SIXTEEN

  Patrick Kerrigan ripped the cord from its so
cket and hurled the phone across the room. It hit the far wall and shattered, spraying sharp pieces of plastic across the hotel furniture. He clenched his hands into tight fists and moved his lower jaw back and forth, grinding his teeth. He took a few deep breaths and then walked over to the window, looking out through the London fog. His breathing returned to normal; he slackened the pressure on his jaw and straightened his fingers. He willed himself to relax.

  He glanced at the ruined phone, then walked into the bedroom and placed a call from the one on the night table. He knew the number and dialed it, including the area code for Northern Ireland. Liam O’Donnell picked up on the third ring.

  “The wheels have totally come off our African operation,” Kerrigan said. “Our colonel is no longer with us, and the targets have left the area.”

  O’Donnell was equally vague with his response. “That’s not good news, but the family is ready to leave anytime. Give me your number and I’ll call you back.”

  Kerrigan gave his Irish hit man the hotel number and hung up. He knew that O’Donnell would head for a public phone, eliminating any chance of the authorities overhearing their conversation. Five minutes later, the phone rang. He answered it immediately.

  “What happened?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Mugumba was sure he had the location of the mine pinpointed to within a hundred square yards, so he went in and tried to take out the entire expedition. He fucked up and got himself killed. They eliminated one of Carlson’s team, but she’s still alive. And she knows where the vein is.”

  “Did Mugumba give you the location?”

  “No. The team he sent ahead by chopper radioed back the location, but Mugumba cleared everybody away from the radio before they gave him the coordinates. He’s the only one who knew, and now he’s dead.”

  “So we need Carlson alive.”

  “Yes. The bitch knows where the diamonds are, and this time I want the location. I want that fucking location.” There was unbridled fury in Kerrigan’s voice.