by STEPHEN HILL
The timing on this was perfect so far. He had caught up with Raaki and his men just hours before they would break camp and make the final jaunt to their base.
Kelly had virtually forgotten an old wound of his on the long trek down from the village. Before leaving the lookout, he checked his personal arsenal. He had strapped four gas bombs to the inside of his thighs, to go along with the one in the lamb’s wool pouch behind his testicles. Four hand grenades were hanging in front of his camouflage jacket. His faithful Rambo knife was in his leather sheath along his left forearm. His specially made Browning gun, was taped to his back and he had six extra clips taped around the bandage on his side old wound. The cross bow with a handful of deadly arrows slung behind his back along with his long barrel sniping rifle.
He was as ready as he ever would be. He crushed out his cigarette and buried the butt deep, just in case someone came along and saw it.
The binoculars hadn’t lied about the sentries. There were none. He slipped through the final section of jungle and pee5res at the firewatchers who were still piling on wood. Dawn was threatening to break over the top of the mountain dead ahead of them. He had to hurry.
From his cover at the edge of the clearing, he singled out a rebel who looked about his height. He watched him closely, studying his movements. It was impossible to see his face because of the dim light and the hood projected out beyond his head. That wasn’t a matter of concern. Once inside his hood, his face would be equally difficult to see. To make certain, he dug his hands in the soft, black dirt of the jungle floor and smeared his face with it.
And then he moved forward just as the rebel who was his height moved away from the ring of campfires to search for new firewood.
Patience was very much a part of his work, but he found that he had little of it as the rebel kept stopping to peer at the ground and then in his direction. Could he see him hiding there at the edge of the clearing? No, impossible. He was behind a thick bush.
He came within five paces, still too far away, searched the dark ground, glanced back at the fires and his roaming comrades, then stopped cold. Kelly was sweating with tension and his muscles were beginning to knot from being held taut so long. He took a deep breath, relaxed all his muscles, felt relief ripple through his body, and then poised again to leap on the unsuspecting rebel.
He leaped out so quickly that even he was surprised. He hit him with his body and he went down like a structure of straw. Even as his left hand was searching for his mouth to keep him from crying out, his right hand was bringing the ‘Rambo’ knife around in a wide arc. Both hands did their work simultaneously.
There was no cry. Only a soft grunt signaled the death of the rebel. It took only a few minutes to drag the rebel into the jungle and strip him of his dress and hood. He raised the cowl until it virtually obstructed his vision, but hid his face.
He gathered up the fallen sticks of firewood and began looking for more, taking his sweet old time about it.
“More quickly, Nandu,” a voice from his left called out softly. “We must build the fires for the breakfast. Move a bit faster, if that is possible, you slow ass.”
He said nothing. He moved away from the fire and went seriously about the business of gathering firewood. By the time he’d brought back his third load of firewood, the cooks were already out preparing breakfast in great black pots.
“Come, Nandu,” the fat rebel said from behind him. “We get to sleep while the others eat, Come, you slowpoke.”
Sleep wasn’t a part of his program just then. He stretched himself on the ground but kept his eyes open. A half hour later, the camp was struck. The carts began to roll.
The sun was up full when they reached the base camp. Ahead he could see a group of rebel guards letting the oxcarts go past. Then, a group of officers came out of the main building to greet the leader’s carriage.
His position was last in line. Somehow, he wasn’t spotted by the rebels. They were closing up on a small mountain. The wind caught his hood and whipped it back over his shoulders before he could catch it.
He could hear someone calling from the leader’s party, to come and identify him. With his luck, the fat rebel would be the first to show up.
Kelly Looked around wildly, inspecting the wall of the mountain not more than a few feet away. There were narrow ledges against the facing of the rock mountain. He ran and grabbed a taut rope that was hanging from the top of the mountain and tried to swing himself close to a ledge that was perhaps ten feet wide and about a foot deep.
On the fifth swing, his feet touched the ledge. He was able to make purchase with his toes. To give himself a better chance he kicked of the sandals and heard them clatter down the rocky mountain, knocking loose pebbles down on the rebel guards.
“Bring him down,” He heard the fat rebel scream. “Shoot the bastard, drop him.”
He had just pushed away from the mountain and was at the point of another swing out into space when he looked down and saw the rebels aiming their rifles up at him. He had to make the ledge quickly.
Bullets were now plunking into the rocks, In one swift, writhing movement, he curled his body and landed on the ledge on his right side. His hands and feet grasped for hold and, as the wind still ripped at his hood, he felt himself settle onto the solid surface.
The bulge of rock above him proved to be a salvation for now. For the moment, if a ricochet didn’t get him, he was safe.
Slowly, carefully, he moved about on the narrow ledge and plucked up the bits of sharp rocks. He flung them over the side, hoping the wind would catch them and drive them into the rebels still firing from below. The rebels also had no clear line of vision, but their bullets were just as dangerous as if they had him as an easy target.
By now both his bare feet were torn and bleeding from the sharp rocks. Half climbing and half running he made a turn around the side of the mountain, he came face to face with Raaki. He was leaning against the mountain, smoking a cigarette. The cigarette dangled untended between his heavy lips. Across his middle, pointing directly at the Captain was a loaded Russian automatic rifle.
“Now we meet, Captain,” he said, spitting out the words and smiling with a ruthlessness that made his bowels churn. “I know who you are. You can’t fool me like you fooled my stupid men, this time you have no escape.”
“It certainly seems that way,” he said, retaining his outward glibness. Inside he was in riot, trying to decide which of his weapon to go for first. It had to be the Browning pistol. He was too far away to be effective with the knife, and the gas bombs would be too slow for his quick trigger-finger. “What’s keeping you? Why don’t you shoot?”
His smile broadened and became even more ruthless looking. “Patience Captain,” he said, “You’ve exhibited a great deal of it in infiltrating our ranks and then concealing yourself among these poor villagers. I will be the one to kill you, make no mistake about that, First, I wish to ask you a few questions.”
“Go ahead.” He was inching forward, hoping he wouldn’t notice but knowing he would. He did.
“Don’t move any further,” he snapped, “Or we forget the questions and toss your body over the side of the mountain. Now, move to the outer edge of the trail and pass by me. We will go down to the base camp now.”
At a turn in the trail, he stumbled and stopped. Raaki stopped behind him. “What is it? Why do you stop?”
He turned and showed him the blood on his chest. It was Nandu’s blood, but Raaki didn’t know it. He leaned against the side of the mountain and let his body sag as though weak. He put his hand to his face and bent over.
“A piece of rock,” He said, gasping out the words for effect. “When I dropped down on a ledge up there, a sharp piece of rock cut through my clothes. I feel sick. Weak.”
The last words had come slowly, far apart, in a slurred voice. He heard Raaki swear and knew that he was certain the injury would cheat him out of his brutal interrogation and final disposition of his body. He wanted him for
his own, wanted the pleasure of pulling the trigger to blast the last remnants of life from his body.
He sagged further and reached out his hand, as though seeking relief from his building agonies.
“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled, as he moved forward to take his outstretched hand. “You can’t die here. You….”
The ‘Rambo’ knife flashed in the air and caught Raaki in the throat. His automatic rifle plummeted to the ground and he let out a cry that could have been heard all the way to the base camp. When he had wrapped his right hand, he had kept the knife clutched in his fingers. But his aim hadn’t been as accurate as it should. He withdrew the weapon and plunged it in again, this time in his chest, hoping to pierce his heart.
He fell, slowly, just as the squad of rebels down the trail broke into a run. They had seen him attack their leader. Two of them had veered off to one side and were on their knees, taking aim to kill their leader’s attacker.
He had no choice; he leaped over the side of the trail and slid on his belly down into the jungle thicket, knowing that it was laid with mines.
Bullets swept the hillside like a wave of water before a high wind. Kelly leaped to his feet and made a twisting, turning dash down the mountain. Although he was out of sight from the rebel squad above, their weapons were sweeping the underbrush that was no protection from dum dum bullets.
Small trees, limbs and bushes all around him were cracking and flashing from the rain of bullets. Clusters of leaves and granite literally exploded in his face. It was then that a ricocheting bullet caught him on the side of his head. Hit on the head he stumbled headlong with a deep gash. He started bleeding like a stuck pig.
Tying his head with a strip of cloth torn from his under-shirt, he zigzagged across the downward slope, found an old trail and made a beeline straight to the valley floor.
The more he walked, the greater the head hurt. By the time he was within sight of the village, he was more than exhausted. His head wound was bleeding profusely. He felt a kind of paralysis setting. But he plugged along, stumbling, falling; passing out for short stretches.
It was late afternoon when he found the final trail leading to Mahasen’s village. He literally crawled into the out skirts of the village just before passing out, saw Pawan and two of his men coming toward him.
At that point, he really didn’t give a damn what happened to him. In fact, he would welcome the sweet rest that would come from death by any means.
VENOMOUS VENGEANCE
A New Lease of Life.
It was dark when he awoke in the now familiar hut. He opened his eyes and saw one lighted torch on the opposite wall. He turned his eyes to his right and there was Gomari, sitting cross-legged beside him, a damp cloth in her hands. She had been applying the cloth to his fevered brow. Near her stood Anand and Pawan, watching anxiously to see if he would speak or merely give out a death rattle.
Captain Kelly felt a bit stronger, but still was unable to rise on his own. Anand and Pawan, against Gomari’s wishes, helped him to a sitting position. Mahasen entered then and sat on his familiar stool.
With great effort, he told of what had happened to him since leaving the village in the middle of last night. When he had finished, they were all convinced that they had gained very little. There was no way to halt the rebel attack that would come at dusk tomorrow, about twenty hours away.
They sounded so defeated, so desolate. He had no idea to cheer them, so he said nothing, unwilling to let them hear the note of defeatism in his own voice. He lay back down, wanting sleep and rest, but afraid to waste anymore time.
“We have to try again,” he said. “We at least know the general location of the rebel camp. We can march all night, avoid their patrols of guards and maybe strike them, and get lucky.”
“Lucky the way we’ve been all along?” Anand asked with a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“Luck has a way of changing,” Kelly said wearily, unable to feel the optimism that his tone implied.
“It’s time it swung around in our direction.”
“We will help with men for such a venture,” Mahasen said. He had listened to their repartee and had decided that He was right. It was worth another try. “Pawan will lead our men. They will be at your disposal, Captain.”
For the first time since his return, he noticed that Gomari, though attentive to his needs, hadn’t been regarding him with such open adoration. She didn’t seem to need to be near him, to touch him often. He soon discovered why. She was sitting quite close to Pawan and he was regarding her with a tenderness that he quickly recognized as budding romance.
Kelly remembered then what Mahasen had told him during their initial discussion, when they had at the hut the first night. “So many of our maidens were killed…… Today, Pawan is past marrying age, yet has not found a maiden suitable as bride.”
Gomari, though she wasn’t one of them, must have been considered of a very high station by Pawan and his father. Things had happened here in his absence and he had to admit that he felt a pang of jealousy, knowing that what had happened was a meeting of minds….and perhaps of soul….between Gomari and Pawan. Ah, the fickleness of the adolescent mind. But the jealousy was short lived and slightly diluted.
He had been worried about how the matter with Gomari would be resolved. Even though he retained string feelings for her. He knew that these new developments were for the best.
He took another hour’s rest, during which time Gomari still tended him with the cold, wet cloth, but avoided his eyes as much as possible. Even when their eyes met, he saw a kind of troubled expression in them. She was jilting him for another man, after having pursued him so diligently before Pawan came into her life. Finally, he decided to put her troubled mind at ease.
“You’re very beautiful and very precious, Gomari,” he said, “and I have a great fondness for you. But this is better. Pawan will…..”
“You presume too much, Captain,” she said. “I have announced no decisions of my intentions.”
“Yes, you have,” he replied. “Not with your lips, but with your eyes. Perhaps you don’t love Pawan yet, but you will. Don’t fight it, Gomari, and don’t be concerned about offending me. Let what will become to you, naturally, and welcome it.”
“You still presume. I love you, Captain.”
“And you will love Pawan.”
She was silent, then her eyes found his and they were still troubled. He hadn’t helped a bit.
“That is my problem,” she said. “I love you both.”
He nodded. He started to tell her about the big difference in their cultures, about the fact that he would soon be called away on another assignment, perhaps halfway around the country, about the fact that he might never return to her village. He decided to skip all that cock talk. If he really wanted her, he could resign from the army and stay right here for the rest of his life. He said nothing, only nodded again and slipped into a deep sleep.
Before he went under, he felt the cold cloth on his forehead again, felt warm tears fall against his bare chest.
Anand and Pawan wakened him shortly before dawn. They had just over twelve hours to stop the bloody rebels marching in on them. If they didn’t find the rebel camp and stop them, it would be all over. Even he would have difficulty escaping the terror group with his skin intact. And if they reached the camp, there was still the lack of a plan as to how they would function there.
Beside him on the floor of the hut was his knapsack and he knew that the old chief had sent someone to retrieve it from the high ledge above the valley. He wished he had told him about his radio, hidden near the farm, but the radio was no help now…..now that he could wexpect no further help from his head quarters.
They were as ready, though, as they would ever be. His fever had broken and he felt strong again. Gomari remained asleep and he was grateful for that. He didn’t want to see her troubled look as her soul fought to decide between him and Pawan. If the chief’s son knew of her agonizing decision, he
said nothing.
Outside, a dozen men, all carrying outdated firearms, waited for them to be led to the rebel camp. By first real light, they were well out on the trail, traversing the jungle. They walked slowly but purposefully, knowing that precious minutes were slipping past; also knowing that haste would spend their strength and make them useless once they found the rebel camp.
As they approached the first clearing that could possibly lead to the camp’s hidden entrance, he thought he heard sounds ahead of them. They weren’t normal jungle sounds, so he halted their small party and went on ahead to find out what the sounds were.
And there, at the mouth of the entrance, were two dozen rebels, juis rousing themselves for breakfast, in a small camp of a man-made clearing. They had been camping in the open….on tents, huts or even cots.
Captain Kelly reported back to the others and they decided against a frontal attack against the superior force of rebels. He had noticed sentries at a half-dozen outposts. They set out, knives in hands, with instructions fro him on how to take out a man quietly, without alarming the others.
After staking out the sentry he would kill, he watched his activities until he found the place where he came nearest the jungle wall. He made a circuitous route to that spot, lay in the bushes and waited for the others to do the same with their sentries. Only five of the men and he were involved in the task. Anand, Pawan and the other seven men were set up near the camp’s main entrance. They would press to the attack on the main force of rebels only if one of the sentries managed to set off an alarm.
The backup phase of the operation wasn’t necessary. No sooner had he leaped from cover, slashed the throat of his appointed sentry and dragged him into the brush, than the other five men, armed with long, keenly-honed blades, were already on top of their sentries, dispatching them silently and swiftly.