General Conreid stood up. “If that is all, I will prepare the final touches on my battle plan for both Botswana and Zimbabwe, and we will strike this bastard wherever he may be,” he said, his face without expression.
“Nothing more,” Bruno replied. “Get back to me as soon as you can.”
Conreid left the underground meeting room, and now Bruno was alone with his thoughts. He was confident that his leaders could come up with a smashing blow for his New World forces against Battalion 12. But what of Ben Raines and all the other brigades moving across Africa?
Bruno wished he could look inside the mind of General Raines to see what the Rebel commander had up his sleeve with all these strange movement patterns across central and southern Africa.
There was a Special Forces brigade led by Jerold Enger in Namibia now, heading north and searching for Raines and his 501 Brigade, who were supposedly somewhere in Angola. Perhaps Major Enger would radio a report soon. General Ben Raines was the key to Rebel successes. If he could be assassinated, or killed during battle, the Rebel armies would fall apart. . . .
SEVENTEEN
Jersey came awake with a start, her hand reflexively reaching for her 9mm pistol on the ground next to her. She strained her eyes in the early, pre-dawn gloom, trying to see what had awakened her.
She jumped as a howler monkey in a nearby tree gave out another high-pitched scream, calling for its mate.
Damned monkeys, she thought, between them and the macaws, the jungle was never quiet. Traveling in Africa was a lot like living in a large city back in the states—after a while you got so used to the noise you never noticed it, unless it wasn’t there.
Relaxing again against Cooper’s back, she laid her pistol back down on the ground and put her arm around him.
He must have broken his fever, she thought, noticing that he was no longer shivering and shaking and his body temperature seemed more normal to her as she lay against him, spooning him from behind.
The darkness rapidly lightened and dawn came, bringing with it a little welcome heat, relief from the chilly night air. As the daytime animals and birds began to stir, getting up for the day and making noise and calling back and forth, Cooper moved.
“Wake up, soldier,” Jersey said, starting to unwrap her arms from around him.
He grabbed them, holding on tight. “No, not yet,” he mumbled, still half asleep. “Just a few minutes more.”
She relaxed against him again. “Okay, just a few minutes, you lazy slugabed.”
He chuckled, low in his throat. “I’m not lazy, I’m just enjoying the way you feel against me, and the way you kept me warm all night.”
Jersey’s voice got harder. “You’re not coming on to me, are you, Cooper?”
He stiffened, turning his head to look back over his shoulder at her. “Hell no. Do I look that hard up to you, girl?”
“OK, then.” She paused. “Then I guess I’ll let you live another day.”
“I was just commenting that you were nice to cuddle with, no sexual innuendos intended.”
“Well . . . I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, too,” she answered, her voice getting softer. “Sometimes, the sleeping bag in a tent routine gets kind’a old.”
“Tell me about it! And the weeks that go by with no time for any social life . . . I’ll tell you, Jersey, war is hell.”
“Coop, did you ever think about just chucking it all and going back to SUSA, becoming a normal citizen, and starting a family?”
“Sure, all the time. I guess that’s what we’re all working toward, except for the Scouts, who’ll be the only ones disappointed when this is all over. But as long as the world’s in the shape it’s in, that would seem like the coward’s way out.”
“Me, too. Sometimes I fear I’m going to end up forty years old, a gray-headed little old lady, still fighting in this damned war with no husband, no kids, sleeping every night with my M-16 by my side instead of a good man.”
“Yeah. There doesn’t seem to be any end to it, does there?”
“No, and from the way Cecil Jefferys is talking, when we finish with Bottger here and go back to the states there’s going to be more civil war there.”
He snuggled back against her. “In that case, let’s just lie here all day and let someone else fight the war.”
She squeezed him for a moment, then pulled away and said, “I’d love to, Coop, but we’ve got to get you back to base and get that wound taken care of, or the war is going to be over for you sooner than you want.”
She crawled out from under their pile of clothes and stood up. Cooper started to turn over, noticed her nakedness, and turned away so she could get dressed in private.
As she pulled her clothes on he slipped into his pants and shirt, moaning as the movement fired up the pain in his left shoulder.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, it’s just that every muscle in my body is aching It feels as if I’m turning to stone a little at a time.”
“That’s the infection. I think it’s spreading through your bloodstream, causing sepsis.”
He tried to stretch, finding his left arm and shoulder were so stiff he couldn’t raise it above his head without a fiery pain shooting up into his neck and head.
He glanced up at her, pain in his eyes. “Maybe you’d better go on without me, and come back for me when you get to Soyo and the rest of the troops.”
“Not likely, partner. You know we never leave a team member in the field. It’s just not done.”
“Jersey, I’m serious. I don’t know if I can go on much longer, and I don’t want to slow you down.”
“What you want doesn’t matter, soldier. I’m senior to you by a couple of weeks, so I give the orders here. So, off your ass and on your feet, Coop. We got places to go and people to meet, and we’re burning daylight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her a mock salute.
They gathered up their gear, Jersey carrying both weapons on straps over her right shoulder and Cooper’s right arm draped over her left shoulder, and began to walk west. They followed the river as it wound toward Soyo and the coast.
The underbrush was thicker near the water, so they curved inland a bit to make the walking easier. Their pace was significantly slower than on the days before, with Cooper barely able to walk and completely unable to jog.
They stopped a couple of times, to let Cooper rest and to pick bananas and other fruit from trees when they found them. Most of the fruit was partially rotted, but they were so hungry that they wolfed it down, anyway.
Cooper gave a halfhearted smile as he chewed on a rancid, blackened banana. “Be a hell of a note if my bullet wound didn’t kill me, if I got food poisoning instead and died from it, wouldn’t it?”
“Just don’t start puking on me, that’s all I ask,” Jersey said. “I don’t mind half-carrying your lazy butt, but I draw the line at wiping vomit off your face.”
Suddenly, two black men appeared out of the brush on the trail ahead of them, with AK47s leveled at Cooper and Jersey.
The pair spoke rapidly in what sounded like the singsong syllables of Bantu, motioning at Jersey with their rifles.
Cooper said, “Do you speak English?”
He was met with blank stares and upraised eyebrows.
“How about French?” Jersey asked in her highschool French, trying to smile and look disarming and non-threatening.
The natives just scowled and motioned again with their rifles, the ritual scars on their cheeks showing them to be from one of the warrior tribes, the ones that usually sided with Bottger and his troops in the civil wars in Africa.
Jersey took her arm from around Cooper’s shoulder and slowly, so as not to draw the men’s fire, lowered her weapons to the ground.
As she bent low, she whispered out of the side of her mouth to Cooper, “On my mark, create a diversion, faint or something.”
Cooper glanced at her, eyebrows raised, knowing without asking what she planned to do. That was one o
f the advantages of fighting for many years alongside the same team members—you began to think alike and act in unison, often without saying a word.
“You can’t take them both on by yourself,” he whispered back, while continuing to stare at their enemies. “I’ll take the one on the right, you get the one on the left,” he said, smiling at the men and nodding his head, as if agreeing with their orders instead of planning how to kill them.
The two men shouted angrily, aiming their AKs at the pair and jerking the barrels up and down.
Jersey straightened up. “I think they want us to quit talking and hold up our hands. Give them a good show, partner.”
Cooper bent over partially, a grimace of pain and distress on his face. He raised his right arm, pointing at the swollen, red area around his left shoulder, showing he couldn’t raise it.
The natives stared at him for a moment, then grinned. One of the two looked at his partner and shrugged. When Jersey saw that, she knew it was now or never. She could tell the hostiles had decided to kill them.
As they raised their weapons again Cooper took a step forward and stumbled, falling slightly toward the men, holding his arm and crying out loudly.
Both men cut their eyes at Cooper, giving Jersey a chance to pull her K-Bar from its scabbard unobserved.
In one lightning fast movement she flipped it in the air, grabbed it by its blade at the point, and threw it at the man on the right.
The razor-sharp knife turned slowly over three times, as it was supposed to, and then imbedded itself up to the hilt in the native’s throat.
He screamed and fell back, his AK47 firing into the trees as his finger tightened on the trigger in a death spasm.
His partner, eyes wide with fear, pointed his rifle at Jersey. Before he could fire Cooper straightened, took one quick step, and launched himself in a headlong dive at the man.
Cooper hit his target just above the knees, bending him over so that his AK47 fired harmlessly in the dirt over Cooper’s back.
He and Cooper fell to the ground, and he began to beat Cooper on his back with the AK47, all thoughts of Jersey forgotten.
Jersey took two quick steps closer to them as they grappled, leaned to her left, and flashed out her right leg in a spinning side-kick.
The toe of her boot caught the native on the forehead, snapping his head back and making him drop the AK47. Cooper rolled to the side, exhausted by his attack and sickened by the pain coursing through his left arm and shoulder.
Jersey stood there, feet planted firmly on jungle humus, waving at the native to get up and come and get her.
The man grinned slowly, gingerly feeling the egg-sized knot on his forehead where she had kicked him. He climbed to his feet and held his hands out at his sides, fingers forming into claws, baring his teeth in a snarl.
He was well over six feet tall, making Jersey wonder for a moment if he were one of the famous Watusi tribe, known for their height and for eating cows’ blood mixed with milk.
Jersey spoke softly. “Come and get some, big guy. I promise you a dance you’ll never forget as long as you live . . . which I figure will be about thirty more seconds.”
Evidently figuring his size and strength would overwhelm her, the man charged straight at Jersey, not even bothering to feint one way or the other.
As he reached for her throat, yelling in triumph, she stepped quickly to the side, spun on her heels once, and hit him in the forehead again with a rik-hand—her fingers curled into her palms and her fist swung with a straight elbow, like a hammer on the end of a string, and with the same effect.
The native was knocked to one knee, where he stayed, trying to uncross his eyes and to think past the throbbing pain in his forehead.
Jersey stepped behind him and swung a hard, place-kicker type kick at his butt, the toe of her shoe catching him in the balls and lifting him to his feet with a horrible, animal-like scream.
As he turned, holding his crotch, moaning and crying, probably for mercy, Jersey drew back and swung a knife-hand strike with the side of her hand just under his chin, crushing his larynx.
His head snapped back and he grabbed for his throat as he sat down hard on the ground. He gurgled and tried to breathe through his broken windpipe, to no avail.
After a moment his eyes widened in fear, frothy blood bubbled from his mouth, and he died.
Jersey immediately went to where Cooper lay on the ground, holding his left shoulder and cursing. “Damn, that hurt like a bitch!” he snarled through gritted teeth.
“I told you to let me handle it, dummy.”
He looked up, grinning through his pain. “If I hadn’t saved your butt, you’d be wearing about a dozen AK47 slugs as jewelry right about now, girl.”
“Bullshit! I could have taken him, easy.”
She inclined her head toward the dead body lying on its back behind her. “Hell, I didn’t even work up a sweat on that bastard.”
Cooper shook his head. “That’s typical. The man saves the maiden, and gets no credit whatsoever.”
Jersey smiled as she examined Cooper’s arm, trying to stop the fresh bleeding his exertions had caused. “What makes you think I’m a maiden?”
Cooper snorted in pain at her prying fingers. “’Cause you’re too ugly to have ever had a man.”
Jersey, instead of getting angry, just grinned and tightened the bandage on Cooper’s arm tighter, making him moan again.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Coop.”
He stared at her for a second, then shrugged. “Well, that is why God invented alcohol—so ugly girls could get laid, too.”
Jersey laughed and turned away. She went over to the dead men and began to go through their packs.
“What are you looking for?”
“A couple of canteens filled with water, and food, real food, of any kind. You need protein to hold off that infection, or you’re never going to make it to the base.”
“Bullshit,” he said, as he struggled to get to his feet. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this all for me. I know you, too well for that, lady. You’re just looking for chocolate, ’cause you’re probably going through withdrawal from not having your daily candy bars.”
“Bingo,” she said, pulling two canteens out of the men’s packs. She pitched one to Cooper and she immediately took the other and began drinking from it.
Cooper used his shirt to wipe the mouth of his canteen, “You’d better watch out who you drink after, Jersey. Remember, this is the continent where eighty percent of the population has HIV.”
After wiping the canteens spout for about thirty seconds, he finally put it to his lips and drank as fast as he could swallow.
After a few moments Jersey found some tins of canned meat, a couple of hunks of cheese, and a bag of cooked rice. She spread the bounty out on the ground and she and Cooper ate their fill, watching over their shoulders in case the gunshots had brought any more hostiles.
When they were finished she walked toward the river.
“Where are you going?” Cooper called.
“I’ve got to go powder my nose, you oaf. Some of us, even in the most difficult conditions, remember what it’s like to be a lady,” she said.
Cooper looked over at the two men she had killed with her bare hands and snorted.
“Watch out for crocs. This part of the Congo is full of them, and they’re not too particular about what they eat.”
After a moment Jersey came running back into the clearing. “Hey, Coop, this is our lucky day.”
Cooper looked down at his swollen, throbbing shoulder, “Oh? Is that so? I’m wounded and probably dying, and we’re God only knows how many miles from our lines in jungle filled with hostiles . . . now just why do you think it’s our lucky day?”
“Because these two assholes must have come here in a boat. I found one pulled up on the bank over there in the bushes.”
“Holy shit,” he said, “that means no more walking.”
“Even better,” she said, �
�the river flows toward the coast, so we won’t even have to row very hard.”
“Jersey, for once you’ve outdone yourself.” He walked to her and put his good arm around her shoulder, sweat running down his face from his fever. “Take me home.”
After two hours on the river, letting the current do most of the work, Jersey and Cooper came to the port of Soyo. When they saw the helicopter still on the edge of the river and the medical team camped out around it, they began to shout and call out.
Soon, the medics were helping Cooper out of the boat. Within minutes they had an IV going and were pouring massive amounts of antibiotics into his veins.
One of the young men said, “I don’t know, Cooper. We may have to operate on that wound. It looks pretty bad.”
Jersey put her hand on her pistol and stepped to Cooper’s side. “No one touches that arm except Dr. Chase. Now, unless you want to see one pissed-off, crazy female, you’d better get us to him, pronto!”
The medic blanched. “OK . . . OK” He turned to the helicopter pilot and said, “Let’s go, Sarge. We need to get this man to General Raines’s camp as soon as we can.”
“Sooner,” Jersey said, patting her pistol, “sooner, if you know what’s good for you.”
As the medics loaded Cooper’s stretcher onto the chopper, Jersey grabbed one of the Scouts by the arm.
“Hey soldier, you got any chocolate in your duffel bag?”
Cooper raised his head and said, “Better give it to her, son. She gets downright nasty when she hasn’t had her chocolate.”
EIGHTEEN
Moving carefully along the Atlantic coast jungles in western Namibia, Major Jerry Enger checked his maps and aerial recon photographs with Tomo, his best Zulu tribesman and scout, looking over his shoulder.
Like its geographical counterpart in North America, the African southwest is desert country, with Namibia taking its name from the Namib, the great swathe of desert that stretches the length of its eight-hundred-mile-long Skeleton Coast. This Namib desert is one of the driest places on earth.
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