The African Mercenary
Page 17
A tree snake slid by his face, flicked out its tongue to taste the aura of the sleeping man, and moved on to seek more familiar prey.
Mtuba moved easily through the brush, just letting his body pick out its own path that would lead him to the mercenary. His skin prickled with anticipation, an aboriginal awareness. He knew that Casey was near. Very near.
Squatting down on his haunches, he waited. This was a time for patience. Somewhere near him was that which he sought. It would make itself known.
His back against a tree, he rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to make his spirit one with the darkness, trying to see and feel the forest with his senses. He listened to the croaking of tree frogs and the cry of night birds who hunted and mated in the foliage above him. Beneath his feet, war was being waged endlessly. Huge horned beetles fought with evil looking scorpions. Lizards poked into rotten tree stumps to eat the larvae of wasps. Beneath the rich humus a hundred species of insect and animal life fought for survival, eating each other and breeding to perpetuate the cycle of life and death. Few of nature's creatures died of old age.
Without warning, the night erupted in screeches and howls. Branches shook and leaves rained down to the floor of the forest. A hunting cat had killed in the trees above and was dragging its meal home to feed its cubs. The hundreds of monkeys who had been quietly feeding in the trees were protesting its actions.
The sudden howling caused Casey to sit up with a jerk. His arm slipped off his retaining limb, and his rifle fell to the earth below.
Mtuba came to his feet. He'd heard clearly the sound of metal striking wood. Unerringly he moved toward the place where the sound had originated. In the darkness his body was no more than another of the thousands of shadows that flickered for a heartbeat, then were gone.
Swearing between clenched teeth, Casey began to climb down his tree to retrieve the AK 47. Sliding down the last ten feet, arms and legs holding him close to the trunk, he let out an involuntary grunt when the nub of a broken branch caught him squarely in the crotch.
Mtuba grinned. The sound he had just heard did not come from any beast of the forest. Dropping into a low crouch, he threaded his way between and under broad leaves and through a tangle of vines.
Casey was bending over to pick up the AK 47 when he felt a chill run down his neck and back. It was a feeling that only one who has lived years with death can know. It was a feeling that someone or something was watching, and it wasn't friendly. He had learned long before to trust his instincts in these matters. As he bent over, he kept on going into a roll that took him behind a tree for cover. Suddenly the ear jarring rattle of automatic rifle fire drove everything else in the forest into silence.
Mtuba ran forward. He knew he'd missed. How the white bastard had known he was behind him didn't matter. He'd still take him.
Casey came up from behind his tree as Mtuba rushed at him. The dark skin of the African made him nearly invisible, but the flashes of fire from the bore of his AK 47 gave him away. Casey tried to cock his own rifle, but the bolt had become jammed when it fell.
In his eagerness to kill, Mtuba lunged forward, believing his target would run from him. Instead, an object flew at him. Teeth broke off at the gums as the butt of the AK 47 came into contact with his mouth. The force of the thrown rifle knocked him flat on his back. Before his mind had fully registered what had happened, his own rifle was jerked from his hands and an incredibly strong set of fingers were around his neck lifting him into the air and slamming his back against the trunk of a tree.
Casey pinned his antagonist there, resisting the urge to simply snap the man's neck. Giving Mtuba a backhand, he knocked him out and let him fall. Using the straps from their rifles, he tied his captive's wrists and ankles. He didn't know why he didn't kill him; maybe he'd seen enough death lately. At least he didn't have to keep looking behind him anymore. Maybe Mtuba might be of interest to Montfort and van Janich. The reason didn't really matter. All he knew was that now he wouldn't get any more sleep.
It was dawn when Casey finally shook Mtuba into awareness; he must have hit him harder than he thought he had. Stiff and tired, he jerked his prisoner to his feet.
"Come on. We have some traveling to do." Mtuba ran a thick tongue over the broken stumps of his teeth and spat out some bloody splinters. He said nothing as Casey broke his jammed rifle against a rock and took Mtuba's good one. Then he untied his legs and used the strap that had been on them for a choke leash around his neck.
"All right, let's go." Casey gave the leash a jerk and led the way. Mtuba suffered his indignities in silence. He would give the white man no satisfaction by pleading.
At noon Casey called a halt by a spring. He let Mtuba rinse out his mouth and drink, then did the same himself. The day was already another scorcher. They'd left the cover of the strip of forest more than an hour before, and were back in open country. He wondered how much further they'd have to go.
Mtuba read his thoughts and spoke for the first time.
"It doesn't matter where we are or what is done to me. You might as well go ahead and kill me. I am ready."
Casey took another mouthful of the tepid water, swirled it through his teeth, and spat it out on the earth. "So you can talk after all. Just to make things clear, understand me. I don't really know why I'm taking you alive. Maybe I'm just getting a bit soft, or it might be that you can tell my contractors about your Chinese friends and why they're here."
Mtuba shook his head, his tongue not working properly around his broken teeth. "I will tell them nothing."
Casey picked up his leash and said, "Suit yourself. I really don't give a damn. But tell me one thing: Why did you come after me once the Chinese was out of your reach?"
Mtuba grinned through smashed lips. "You understand nothing! Once the Chinese was gone, it meant I had failed. No matter what the conditions, the responsibility was mine and mine alone. I don't like losing at anything and you have caused me to lose the most important thing in my life: my reason for living. I was to be of service to the new revolution, not just to the cause, but to be a leader of it. That would have brought glory and honor to my name. Now that is gone, and all I had left for a goal in life was you. I really would not have minded being killed if I could have killed you in the process. So, you see, I have been ready to die since we were at the Dutch airstrip. You can do nothing to frighten me or make me cooperate. I am still ready to die!"
Casey gave his leash a jerk to accent his response. "Don't say it too often, or I might help you out."
After marching another hour, a feeling, not quite a sound, vibrated on the hot air. He wasn't sure for a minute, but then there it was. An HU 1b was making straight for them. On its nose Casey could make out the roundels with the national colors of the contractors on it. Waving his rifle, he pulled Mtuba out into a large clearing where they could easily be seen.
The chopper banked and circled the two men. It was making a scan of the area around the clearing to make sure there were no enemy troops in the neighborhood. Seeing none, the pilot changed the chopper's attitude and came straight in, resting its skids on the dusty soil, the spinning rotors creating small whirlwinds. Harrison, Van, and Montfort leapt from the open doors, weapons ready to give cover if needed. Casey pushed Mtuba inside the helicopter, then quickly followed, keeping his hand on the leash. He sat right across from his prisoner. Harrison and Van clambered back on board right behind Montfort, who sat down beside Mtuba. The pilot gave it some more throttle, and the helicopter cleared the ground in an eye stinging, man-made cyclone of dust, grit, and sand. Casey leaned over, putting his mouth close to Montfort's ear. "I have a present for you if you want him, but he says he'll tell you nothing about the Chinese or anything else."
Montfort gave Mtuba a dirty look that had bullets in it before saying, "That's all right with me. The Chinese you sent us has spilled his guts all over the place. I don't really have any use for this thing." He indicated Mtuba.
Rising up to three thousand feet,
the chopper tilted its nose slightly downward and headed north. The beating of the rotors made it difficult to hear. Mtuba sat sullenly between Casey and Van. Yelling above the noise, Casey asked, "How is Gus?" No one said anything. Their expressions were more eloquent than any words could have been. Casey felt his heart drop to his stomach.
Another one gone, the one who had been such a special friend to him.
Mtuba also understood what had taken place, and he began to laugh. Bobbing his head up and down, he mocked Casey: "I still think I won. I have hurt you. I have killed your friends and taken them away from you. Nothing you can ever do will bring them back. I have won!" Montfort reached over to slap him across the mouth to shut him up. But before his hand could reach Mtuba's face, Casey's own scarred hand grabbed Mtuba by his neck. Jerking him bodily out of his seat, he hurled him out the open door. Casey looked down at the wildly flailing arms and legs as Mtuba fell three thousand feet to land headfirst on the hard, sun baked veldt.
"Why did you do that?" Montfort yelled at Casey.
Casey looked Montfort straight in the eye, giving the major the distinct feeling that someone had just walked over his grave.
"Let's just call it a love offering, Major. That's all, just an offering." Van and Harrison had to lean next to his mouth to hear his next words, they were spoken so softly.
"Let's go home now. I'm very tired."
Continuing Casca’s adventures, book 13 The Assassin
Captured by the fanatical Hashishi, Casca is forced to commit murder after murder until the earth is soaked with the blood of the enemies of Hassan al Sabah. Casca’s awesome skill at arms has earned him the name of Kasim the Spear…
But to claim a life of his own, the Eternal Mercenary must endure the horror of a thousand deaths!
For more information on the entire Casca series see www.casca.net
The Barry Sadler website www.barrysadler.com
THE CASCA SERIES IN EBOOKS
By Barry Sadler
Casca 1: The Eternal Mercenary
Casca 2: God of Death
Casca 3: The Warlord
Casca 4: Panzer Soldier
Casca 5: The Barbarian
Casca 6: The Persian
Casca 7: The Damned
Casca 8: Soldier of Fortune
Casca 9: The Sentinel
Casca 10: The Conquistador
Casca 11: The Legionnaire
Casca 12: The African Mercenary
Casca 13: The Assassin
Casca 14: The Phoenix
Casca 15: The Pirate
Casca 16: Desert Mercenary
Casca 17: The Warrior
Casca 18: The Cursed
Casca 19: The Samurai
Casca 20: Soldier of Gideon
Casca 21: The Trench Soldier
Casca 22: The Mongol
By Tony Roberts
Casca 25: Halls of Montezuma
Casca 26: Johnny Reb
Casca 27: The Confederate
Casca 28: The Avenger
Casca 30: Napoleon’s Soldier
Casca 31: The Conqueror
Casca 32: The Anzac
Casca 34: Devil’s Horseman
Casca 35: Sword of the Brotherhood
Casca 36: The Minuteman
Casca 37: Roman Mercenary
Casca 38: The Continental
Casca 39: The Crusader
Casca 40: Blitzkrieg
Casca 41: The Longbowman