Escape from Nicaragua

by Stephen Mertz

  "We shoulda booby-trapped that truck," Hog said morosely. He grunted. "I guess all this easy livin' must be makin' me soft."

  "That must be it," Stone agreed.

  Loughlin said, "I hate to let that little prick outsmart us. I sure hope we see him again."

  "He didn't outsmart us, he just ordinary double-crossed us. And we half expected it, right? Let's get to a place where we can throw a flashlight on the map."

  They walked into the forest, toward the west, for half an hour and halted in a ravine. Mark spread the map on the ground, and they studied it by the light of a flash. Mark circled La Cruz with a pencil. "There's mountains all around and all this part of the country is forested. That's our only hope. I'm sure they'll try to find us from the air—depending on how bad they want us. So when we hear engines, we freeze. They'll be looking for movement."

  Loughlin said, "How about if we travel at night?"

  "Too slow. We'll make twice as much time by day. We have to take the chance. We also have to be miles from here by morning."

  Hog said, "Let's go west, then. We c'n bend south later."

  "That gets my vote," Mark said. He looked at the Brit, who nodded.

  They halted as daylight crept over the land. They were on high ground, following just below a jagged ridge heading, by Mark's compass, generally southwest. Hog, out in front as point, found a small, scooped-out hollow and made a tiny fire in it for coffee. The smoke lost itself in the tall trees around them. They could see nothing but mountains and trees; they seemed to be alone on the planet.

  Until the first helicopter appeared.

  It was several miles away, following a distant valley. It disappeared into the mists, and Hog said, "They're lookin' for us, neighbors."

  "Persistent buggers," Loughlin observed. "They could get on a man's nerves."

  They continued along just below the ridge for several hours, halting once to let a plane soar overhead. No pilot had a chance of spotting them. The ridge divided and they went west till it finally began to flatten out.

  Using the binoculars, Mark could see the country ahead was farmland. It was a wide plateau that vanished into mists with distance.

  The chopper caught them in the open.

  Some trick of acoustics or ground kept them from hearing it till it was almost atop them, coming from behind at treetop level. It roared overhead and opened up with machine guns as they scattered.

  Mark rolled onto his back, slamming shots with the .44 Magnum, hearing Hog and Loughlin's Uzis stuttering. He saw the chopper swing wide suddenly, taking evasive action, and thought he saw glass smashed.

  He reloaded the pistol and slung the AK assault rifle off his back. It fired rifle rounds instead of pistol and was very accurate. He led the chopper and squeezed off two, three, four rounds, certain he was hitting.

  The pilot jinked and swooped and his shots were going wild.

  When the plane came nearer, Hog switched to auto and emptied the magazine into the ship as it raced over him. He saw black smoke curl from it and yelled, "He's hit, the fucker is hit!"

  Mark slammed in a new magazine and rose to his knees. The chopper was quickly out of range, and he watched it disappear.

  "He's hit bad," Loughlin said. "The sonofabitch picked off more'n he could chew." He reloaded deftly. "We got us a chopper, mates."

  "And he knows where we are," Mark pointed. "Let's backtrack. They'll expect us to keep going, huh?"

  Hog said suddenly, "You bleedin', son?" He picked at Mark's fatigues. There was a bullet hole in the sleeve. The slug had gone through without touching him. He hadn't even felt it.

  "The devil's grabbin' at yore ass," Hog said. "You better change yore habits."

  "Since you're so goddamn cozy with him, you tell him t'go fuck himself."

  Hog laughed. "He's probably the only one c'n do that, too."

  They retraced their steps quickly, expecting more choppers any moment, but none came. Regaining the high ground, Mark used the binoculars, scanning carefully in all directions, seeing no movement at all. Damn curious.

  Loughlin mused, "Maybe we hit his radio."

  That seemed the most likely. The chopper would have to return to base before an alarm could go out.

  Lieutenant Paco Suran raced to La Cruz with his two carriers when the radio report came in. A campesino had escaped from the three men holding him, three dangerous norteamericanos who had killed five men to steal a truck. Paco was positive this was the group he wanted.

  When he stood before the slim schoolteacher, he knew it. "Where are they headed?"

  "To Managua, señor."

  "Why?"

  Raul shrugged. "I do not know, señor. They did not tell me."

  "Can you guess?"

  Raul shook his head. "How could I guess?"

  "You were with them, idiot! What were they like?"

  "They are all very big men, very dangerous, very quick. I was in fear of my life every second."

  "They wanted you to guide them?"

  "Yes, señor."

  Paco tapped his chin thoughtfully. "So they do not know the country." He stared at Raul. "What did they talk about?"

  "Women."

  Paco made a rude gesture. "Everyone talks about women! What else?"

  "About stealing an airplane."

  Paco sighed. "There are only three men?"

  "Yes, señor."

  "They haved killed fourteen men that I know about. . . ."

  "They are devils, señor."

  Pace frowned at him. "So am I."

  He got rid of the quaking little schoolteacher. The man could tell him nothing. He got out his maps and spread them on a table, and, with Sergeant Cortes, he discussed routes. Which way were the norteamericanos likely to go? Raul had hinted that the group was in a hurry, that they had discussed stealing an airplane . . . that suggested hurry. So why would they not continue toward the south?

  Sergeant Cortes thought they might go west, to confuse the pursuit, but Paco overruled that idea. The men they sought were in a hurry—they would go south.

  They hurried out to the personnel carriers and sped off in that direction.

  As Paco left the village a helicopter was seen to crash only a few miles away, leaving a great column of black smoke. When an officer and a squad of ten men arrived on the scene, there was little to see but burning wreckage. Some of the metal parts of the chopper had obvious bullet holes.

  The officer made his report: The helicopter had met an enemy in an unknown location, and the pilot had been seriously hit and had tried to bring his plane in but had crashed. The pilot was unfortunately dead.

  There was apparently no activity in the wide valley below them to the south.

  Mark said, "Let's cross it now. Maybe we can beat the pursuit."

  "Leave 'em diddlin' around in our dust," Hog agreed.

  They were halfway down the mountain when a column of trucks appeared. Apparently there was a road and they hadn't seen it. As the column passed, the last truck halted, and they watched ten men hop out and make camp. In a short time there were several fires and men were making coffee and cooking food.

  "Sonofabitch!" Loughlin said. "Will you look at that? What the hell are they doing!"

  "Exactly what we don't want," Mark said disgustedly. "That helicopter pilot must have told them after all. . . ."

  "Or somebody is lucky," Hog said. "Somebody is pattin' Lady Luck's ass more'n we are."

  "Well, we got to get across that valley. We'll just have to go around them." He looked at the sky. "It's too long until dark—"

  Loughlin took the binoculars and examined the camp. "They're in a bloody good position on high ground so they can see in both directions." He looked toward the right. "There's another truck about half a mile down."

  "Diversion," Stone said. "We need a diversion. Somebody think of something."

  The big Texan smiled. "That grass out there looks dry. What about fire?" He wet his finger and held it up. "Wind's blowin' to the east. Mebbe
we c'n find us a gully or arroyo and set us a right nice fire. Smoke them jaspers out."

  "They'll know who set it," Loughlin protested. Wiley laughed. "With a fire lickin' at their asses . . . ?"

  "It's worth trying," Mark said. "Move out. Let's find a gulley upwind. We'll set the fire and keep going."

  They moved to the right and came down slowly to the valley floor, stopping at intervals to use the binocs, keeping track of the men around the truck. One man was standing on the truck bed, obviously a lookout, and when he turned their way, they froze in position.

  The floor of the valley had looked smooth and level from the mountain heights, but when they finally reached near it, they could see it was rugged and gullied with huge tangles of grass and leafed vines. It was land totally unsuited for grazing or farming, probably the reason it was uninhabited. But Hog was sure he could set it afire.

  "They's plenty of dry stuff underneath them green leaves."

  "You're sure?"

  "Ain't this the dry season? That'll burn like Mama's cookin'."

  Loughlin said, "Who's got a better idea?"

  No one had. "Maybe the Lady is smiling at us," Stone said hopefully.

  "Pat her ass," Hog said. "She likes it when you kind of roll your hand around."

  "C'mon, let's do it." Stone got down on hands and knees.

  They crawled along a gully for a quarter of a mile to get opposite the parked truck. The car was off the road on high ground, and as they came near, they could see that it would be almost impossible to cross the road without being seen by the lookout.

  They separated to light the fires.

  Hog was right, there was lots of dry grass matted close to the ground, and it took fire quickly and smoke curled up, spreading out—and the lookout saw it almost at once.

  They heard him yell, then shots came smashing along the gully.

  Stone yelled, "Get across the road—" He scuttled along after Loughlin, coughing when the smoke swirled around and enveloped him. There was one hell of a lot of smoke, and he cursed it at first, then realized it was helping to hide them.

  The fires they'd set burned fiercely, eating into the undergrowth, making their own wind, which swept down on the truck.

  The firing stopped, and Stone could hear the truck engine. Someone was driving it away, probably afraid the fire would reach it.

  He reached the road and ran across it. Hog and Loughlin were there, coughing and swearing but grinning at him. Hog said, "Ain't that some fire, neighbor? You want a fire, you call ol' Hog."

  "Get moving," Stone growled, and Hog waved and continued crawling along the gully, heading for the trees.

  The fickle wind suddenly blew the smoke away from them, and Stone ducked low. The guy in the truck was firing a large caliber machine gun, tearing up the rim of the gully, showering him with dirt. Sonofabitch!

  Stone found a niche and lay on his belly with the .44 Magnum. He tried one shot, but the truck was too far away. He pulled the AK off his shoulder and shoved the muzzle through the niche. The lookout on the cab was pounding shots farther along; apparently he had glimpsed Hog or Loughlin.

  Squeezing the trigger, Stone fired short bursts at the machine gunner, seeing metal ripped off the cab—then the gunner threw up his hands and disappeared. The gun pointed at the sky.

  "Gotcha," Stone said aloud. Jumping up, he ran hard along the gully. He had a glimpse of another man climbing onto the truck bed, swinging the gun around. Stone flopped as the first shells began to land.

  Hog was lying prone, aiming shots at the guy—then the truck began to move. Hog fired a long burst at the gunner, knocked him off the cab, and turned the AK on the truck engine. Another burst halted the truck, then the rifle clicked empty.

  Stone caught sight of the second truck. It was starting to move toward them. He yelled at Hog. "Get the fuck out or we'll be caught between two of them!" Loughlin was far up, almost to the trees. He began firing and they hurried along the gully. It seemed ten miles to the trees and a few bursts from the trucks were pounding the rim, tossing dirt and rocks about.

  Loughlin was yelling something at them and pointing.

  Stone looked up to see a gunship bearing down on them.

  Chapter Seven

  Their clothes were the color of the earth and the valley was layered in smoke, so the chopper didn't pick them up at once. Loughlin threw AK rounds at it, smashing a Plexiglas panel, and it swooped and climbed as if in a hurry.

  Hog lay on his back and squeezed off single rounds at it, and the helicopter made a series of rapid turns. Stone thought it looked clumsily handled; they could discount it for the moment.

  One of the trucks was approaching, the cab gunner pouring a stream of lead toward them. Much of it went over—the gunner evidently could not see them and was firing by guesswork. Terry Loughlin turned his attention to the truck, pounding at the front tires, and it suddenly swerved and came to a halt.

  Stone poked Hog. "Now move, move!" He could see men pouring from the truck, at least ten of them, running into the field. He hurried after Hog as bullets began to crack overhead.

  The gulley became wider and deeper, curving toward the west, with rocks and ferns lining the bottom. Turning, Stone emptied the AK magazine at the approaching men, thirty rounds, and they scattered like quail, yelling. He saw two knocked down and thought he had hit two others.

  He slammed another magazine into the rifle as the chopper passed overhead, giving him an excellent shot at its belly. He stitched a row of holes and it suddenly swerved, rocked crazily, then pulled away, losing altitude. Stone's jaw gritted; maybe he had hit the pilot.

  Turning, he ran hard, jumping over boulders. He was around the bend, out of sight of the pursuers on foot . . . for the moment. Hog was far ahead and his Uzi stuttered. He was hunched over, firing to the right. As Stone approached he sent a burst through the tall grass, swore, and ducked as a salvo of 5.56 slugs ripped and tore at the edge of the ditch.

  "They're tryin' to flank us," he growled at Stone. Then he yelled and pointed. Stone turned in time to see the chopper flip up and land beyond the stalled truck, rotors smashing, with several tossed into the air. A sudden gust of flame and a huge cloud of smoke rose, and they heard the distant explosion.

  Stone grinned. "I got me a chopper!"

  "Count yore scalps later," Hog said. "Let's get the fuck outa here."

  "Right." They ran down the curving gulley as a grenade exploded some distance behind them.

  Somebody was anxious.

  The gulley made a sharper turn to the left, and Stone halted, waiting till the first few pursuers came into sight. He sent half a dozen aimed shots at them—the fools were bunched up.

  Three were knocked down; the others pulled back hastily.

  A small plane was making circles high above them, well out of range. It might be too high up to see much.

  The line of trees was close now. And the ground began to slant upward. The gulley was petering out on the edge of a landslide area. Small new trees and clumps of grass grew on the uprooted earth. Loughlin was there, lying between two clumps, firing quick bursts, sniping at the pursuers with deadly precision.

  Stone watched Hog take up a position several yards on the other side of Loughlin. He switched to the AK rifle and began to potshot the men from the truck. Not many rounds were coming their way now. Stone crawled between the grass clumps, getting his breath.

  He turned about and laid the AK in a convenient crevice; this was a hell of a good position. They were higher than the valley floor and could look down on the attackers. Good old high ground. Always grab the high ground.

  He was a dozen yards from Loughlin and Hog. The chopper was burning in the field, the black smoke drifting off to the north. Men were working at both trucks, half a mile away at least. He could see very little movement in the gulley. The leader should call them off if he had any brains. They were all through for today.

  Loughlin called, "I think the little fuckers have had it." He made his vo
ice very British. "Anyone for tea?"

  "Tea an' grits," Hog said.

  The attackers were withdrawing. Loughlin was right; they seemed to have had enough. They must have suffered nearly a dozen casualties, with maybe one of the trucks put out of operation, to say nothing of the dead chopper.

  "Let's git," Stone said. "They'll have an army here in two hours."

  Hog led the way with both the AK and the Uzi slung over his back. They went up the mountain, following game tracks when they could, stopping now and then to blow and rest. Two choppers were over the valley, circling, and as they watched, one landed.

  They could not see, even with the binoculars, that a large body of men had arrived to pursue them. Undoubtedly the Sandinistas would like to corral them, but they probably could not spare very many troops just to capture a few men. It might be the sole reason they were still at large. Of course, the land was wild and they were the needle in the haystack.

  They made the ridge by nightfall, tired to death. And while it was still light Wiley found a small cabin hidden in a draw. It was possibly a poacher's cabin and had not been used for a long time. But it had a tiny fireplace, no windows, and a plank door on leather hinges. They made a fire and cooked the dried meat they'd brought along, and after eating they kept the fire going. It was cold so far up the mountain.

  In the morning Loughlin walked back to the ridge with the binocs to look at the valley—and discovered that men were coming up the mountain. They were far down—trudging along in single file, well out of range of his AK-47.

  He ran back to the hut and routed them out. Hog insisted on booby-trapping the hut with a grenade, tying the pin so it would be pulled out when someone opened the door.

  They filed down the mountain on one of the many shoulders, brushing out tracks for several hundred yards. The route down was not difficult and brought them out onto a level plain partly forested and partly in corn and beans. There was a village off to the right and a road that disappeared into the distance.

  They went to the left, into a forested area, and immediately hit the ground, hearing engines. Five trucks and a jeep went by them on the road, not a quarter of a mile distant.