by Jack Challis
It is plain to see by the soldiers’ condition. They have been in the jungle many weeks. It is also obvious that discipline has broken down. The young blond Peterson and his red-haired Satcom operator, Private Murphy, the only man he can trust, walk at the rear of the column, hanging back, rifles at port, fingers on triggers. Ahead are three enlisted soldiers; two are walking in single file, each leads two mules. One mule carries a heavy load, the other is unladen.
The third and last soldier, with long, flame-red hair, sits back-to-front astride his unladen mule! He is watching Peterson and the CT operator – this soldier is wearing a white gimp-mask! He holds his rifle in the upright position – ready!
Reaching the riverbank, Peterson and Private Murphy begin immediately to set up the satellite communications set, closely watched by the grotesque indian guide known to the Americans as ‘Indian Joe’. The colour of the two men’s hair and eyes fascinates the indian.
Also watching are the three other soldiers – they sit in the shade with the mules, fifty yards away – an uneasy atmosphere prevails!
‘Peterson – hair colour – moon, Murphy – hair colour – fire, eyes blue like sky,’ says the indian. His barrel-chest, overlarge head, ceremonial scars and short legs makes him look like a character out of a Grimm Brothers’ tale!
‘When we hunt – kill Chevez?’ the indian asks.
‘As soon as we finish here, Joe, I guess,’ answers Peterson.
‘When Chevez dead – Indian Joe want Chevez’ Kier Verde woman!’
‘Sorry Joe, that’s not in my power,’ answers Peterson.
‘You call Sky-God now?’ Indian Joe inquires.
‘I guess so Joe,’ the lieutenant replies.
‘Indian Joe also call Sky–God – from sacred rock.’ The indian points to the large flat rock near the river. Indian Joe then holds out his hand expectantly. Peterson hands him a small packet. Indian Joe expertly tips some of its contents on the back of his hand and snorts it. He then walks towards the large flat rock.
‘I am not happy giving the indians cocaine as payment,’ says Peterson, ‘but it seems to be the only currency here. I also think our new indian guide thinks the satellite is his Sky-God – and I can speak to it!’
‘A satellite could seem like a God to a primitive mind,’ replies Private Murphy. ‘He is sure taken by the colour of our hair and eyes, Sir.’
‘I guess redheads and blonds are rare in the jungle,’ Peterson replies.
‘It is unusual for a Marpari to want to see Chevez dead,’ muses Private Murphy.
‘Indian Joe is no Marpari!’ Peterson answers. ‘He is a wild indian who has somehow picked up English. However, I am sure glad he just appeared when our Marpari tracker vanished – he has led us to the perfect pick-up site.’
‘I think they suspect we know about the money, Sir,’ Murphy whispers.
‘They suspect something Murphy. They have been guarding the mule loads and watching us very closely!’
Private Murphy stops his work. ‘Look, Sir – someone has sabotaged the Satcom CT set – looks like the work of a knife!’
‘Can you fix it Murphy?’ Lt Peterson asks looking worried. ‘It’s our only chance!’
‘I guess so, but it will be a weak signal, Sir,’ says Murphy.
‘That Mordicai Hagger is pretty handy with a knife,’ comments Peterson. ‘Sometimes I think he’s not right in the head – wearing that gimp-mask!’
‘They are planning something, Sir – I can feel it,’ Murphy warns.
The three other soldiers are closely watching their officer and Private Murphy. They speak in a slow, nasal, Appalachian Mountain drawl.
Their leader is Sgt Jubel Hogger. The other two are Private Elmer Hagger and his cousin, Mordicai Hagger – still wearing the gimp-mask. All three are related.
These three soldiers are fine examples of the Appalachian Mountains interbreeding programme!
Indian Joe walks by, stopping to admire Mordicai Hagger’s flame-red hair.
‘Hagger hair – like fire,’ says the grinning indian, walking away.
‘Well, I do declare,’ says Mordicai, the least intelligent of the trio, ‘that Indian Joe is one ugly sister-fucker!’
‘Hell – he reminds me of a circus freak,’ replies Elmer Hagger. ‘Strange how he just showed up, Jubel – when our regular Marpari disappeared. He sure don’t look like any Marpari I know – with his filed teeth and all.’
‘I ain’t never seen a naked Marpari – with his pecker hitched up to his waist,’ pipes up Mordicai, grinning. ‘He looks like he is always packing wood.’
‘Indian Joe sure as hell got a hard on for you, Mordicai.’ says a grinning Elmer Hagger.
‘Hell, it don’t matter none, boys,’ adds Sgt Jubel Hogger. ‘When we have done with Peterson and Murphy, Indian Joe can guide them to the Promised Land!’
‘What do we do now Jubel?’ Mordicai asks, fingering a small knife.
‘Just hang loose boys,’ replies Hogger. ‘They will never get that Satcom set to work. You did a dandy job, Mordicai.’
‘I don’t know Jubel,’ says Elmer Hagger. ‘That son-of-a-bitch Murphy is awful handy at fixing things.’
‘Then we fix Murphy – split him from the Lieutenant,’ answers Jubel.
‘How are we gonna do that, Jubel?’ Mordicai asks.
‘Just keep a short rope on ‘em – while I think about it,’ answers Jubel, ‘and take that Goddamn gimp-mask off!’
‘I’m only wearing it to rile the lieutenant, Jubel,’ answers Mordicai.
‘It’s beginning to rile me cousin,’ says Jubel.
‘Hell – it’s only a bit of fun, Jubel,’ Mordicai answers.
‘I’ve seen you sleeping in it – take it off, that’s an order!’
Mordicai complies, grinning, exposing a big mouthful of crooked teeth.
Goddamn, Jubel,’ says Elmer, ‘if Captain Lamont and Lt Dupont were not dead, this money would be back in Dixieland.’
‘Well, it’s all our doing now,’ answers Jubel, ‘to get the money back Deep South. Now unload and water the mules Mordicai.
‘I recall your sister, Susie Lee, used to ride a mule when she came a-sparking.’
‘Susie Lee is sure a fine looking gal,’ declares Elmer Hagger.
‘She sure is,’ adds the grinning Mordicai Hagger.
Sgt Jubel Hogger regards his two relatives suspiciously.
‘Hell… no… Jubel! exclaims Elmer.
‘We swear it on the Good Book,’ adds Mordicai.
‘How is my good sister?’ asks Elmer, quickly changing the subject.
‘Don’t remind me,’ replies Jubel. ‘She’s teaching my daughters to cuss and spit.’ Mordicai takes the mules to the river.
‘Do you think the lieutenant knows about the money, Jubel?’ Elmer asks.
‘That son-of-a-bitch Yankee knows something – he took our Goddamn compasses away, didn’t he! This trouble is all his doing – it was there for the seeing but I didn’t cotton on. I reckon this is no Supply Drop. The chopper is coming for the money and it’s going to Washington, not over the Mason-Dixon line!’
‘The lieutenant may have done us a favour, Jubel,’ says Elmer. ‘All we have to do is kill the lieutenant and Murphy and use the chopper to lift the money out back to Missouri.’
‘What about the armed troops aboard?’ says Jubel, ‘and who’s going to pilot the chopper – Mordicai?’
‘Have you fixed the set yet, Murphy?’ Peterson asks.
‘Kind-a, Sir,’ says Murphy. ‘You should get a couple of short-range transmissions – that is all – the batteries have been drained!’
‘I need to send an urgent signal to base,’ says Peterson, ‘direct to Col Smith. I have a feeling Major Bodeen is in on this. All Southerners are not to be trusted – they seem to have powerful backing from the very top. When is the satellite due, Murphy?’
‘Thirteen hundred hours,’ replies Murphy, glancing over at the three Southerners. ‘They’re planning a
move soon, Sir – we have to do something.’
‘We have to play for time,’ replies Peterson. ‘Make out the Satcom’s not working – take the pressure off. I told them we are here requesting a re-supply drop – that’s why I brought the extra mules.’
‘Goddamn hillbillies!’ responds Private Murphy. ‘I sure wouldn’t like to run out of gas in their neck of the woods.’
Peterson smiles: ‘I’ve seen the film, Murphy.’
Private Murphy finishes setting up the Satcom set. ‘I better fill our canteens, Sir, in case there’s trouble.’
Private Murphy walks towards the river, passing Indian Joe who is chanting a dirge on the large flat rock and looking up at the sky.
As Murphy passes the three Southerners, Sgt Hogger calls him over. ‘Murphy… what’s going on?… where you going, boy?’
‘Satcom’s not giving a signal. I’m just filling the canteens, Sergeant.’
‘Well I declare – now ain’t that just pretty?’ sneers Elmer Hagger.
‘When’s the satellite due, Murphy?’ Hogger asks.
‘Fifteen hundred hours, Sir,’ Murphy lies, continuing to the river.
‘Do you believe him, Jubel – about the Satcom not working?’ Elmer asks.
‘Hell, it don’t matter none. Things are fine and dandy boys – we have a whole two hours to kill the lieutenant and Murphy.’
‘What about Indian Joe, Jubel?’ asks Mordicai, returning with the mules.
‘When the shooting starts, Indian Joe will get rabbit in his blood and bolt, but he’ll be back – for more white powder,’ replies Jubel.
‘Goddamn, Jubel. You sure have things figured out real fine,’ says Mordicai.
‘That’s why I got these three white stripes here, cousin, and you only got crow shit on your sleeve.’
Private Murphy returns to Peterson with the filled canteens.
‘What did our Southern friends want to know?’ the Lieutenant asks.
‘Sgt Hogger wanted to know when the satellite was due, Sir. I told him fifteen hundred hours. That gives us two hours’ grace to make that call. We will have to do something soon Sir – before they make their move.’
‘Well done Murphy,’ replies Peterson, ‘I’ll send them on a patrol, out of the way, while we make the call. Colonel Smith will have armed troops aboard when the choppers arrive – they’ll deal with our Southern friends.’
Peterson and Private Murphy approach the three hillbillies.
‘Sgt Hogger, I want you and the men to check our perimeter before the choppers arrive. There could be hostiles in the area.’
‘Yes Sireee Lieutenant,’ replies Hogger in an insubordinate manner, ‘Me and the boys are plum-tuckered and figured we would sit a spell.’
‘That’s an order, soldier!’ commands Peterson.
‘Sure thing,’ answers Hogger, ‘but we are one man shy, Lieutenant. Perhaps you can kindly loan us old Murphy here – we can split into two groups, make life easy, like?’
The Lieutenant pauses – thinks about the proposition. It would leave him alone to make the call, but endanger the life of Private Murphy. However, to refuse would force the Southerners into action.
‘Ok Sergeant,’ he says eventually. ‘Take Murphy.’ Private Murphy is not pleased. ‘It’s ok Murphy,’ the Lieutenant assures.
The four soldiers cross the river and disappear into the jungle. Jubel whispers to Mordicai, ‘Use your knife – make sure he don’t holler none!’
Reaching the other side of the river, the four US Special Force soldiers split. Jubel and Elmer walk downstream and sit on a log. They watch Mordicai and Murphy go upstream. Mordicai puts the gimp-mask back on.
‘Let’s take out the Lieutenant now, Jubel,’ Elmer suggests.
‘Hang loose, cousin,’ replies the Sergeant, ‘let him settle some.’
Private Murphy positions himself close behind Mordicai – his rifle pointing at the gimp-mask-wearing hillbilly’s back.
‘That son-of-a-bitch Murphy has got Mordicai hog–tied, Jubel – sticking that close behind like,’ Elmer observes.
‘Yeah,’ answers Jubel, ‘Murphy’s so close to Mordicai they could be walking out together. Well let’s do something about it, cousin!’
Back at the riverbank, Peterson checks his watch and searches the cloudless sky for the satellite. Upstream, Murphy is still keeping well behind Mordicai: who stops.
‘It’s kinda lonesome up front, Murphy – take over a spell?’
‘You’re doing just fine, Mordicai,’ answers Murphy. ‘Keep walking, cousin!’
Suddenly there’s a noise behind Private Murphy. Jubel and Elmer appear! Murphy is forced to turn his back on Mordicai – who draws a knife, plunging it into Murphy’s back – killing him!
Jubel Hogger just happens to look up and sees the satellite pass overhead through a gap in the canopy. He checks his watch.
‘Goddamn sister-fucker Murphy lied! We got’a get back before the Lieutenant makes that call!’
The three soldiers hurry back to the riverbank.
Peterson has just got through to base and is talking to Colonel Smith at US Special Force jungle base in Colombia.
‘Sir, I don’t have much time – the CT set has been sabotaged. I have the money at a suitable pick-up site.’
‘Hold on, Peterson,’ replies Colonel Smith. ‘I have two Black Hawks in the air, heading in your direction – there are armed troops aboard. Give your co-ordinates to the pilots – I cannot trust anyone here at base, especially Major Bodeen……where is Murphy?’
‘I sent him with Sgt Hogger and the Hagger boys, Sir, to check the perimeter.’
‘Now listen, Peterson!’ Colonel Smith orders urgently. ‘As soon as you have given the pilots your position, get the hell out of there – Murphy is not coming back!’
‘Yes, Sir,’ answers the Lieutenant, placing down the receiver and picking up his compass to take a bearing from the satellite. Peterson memorises the co-ordinates, then buries the compass and tries to contact the pilots of the helicopters. Too late – he sees Jubel and Elmer hurrying, splashing across the river towards him. The Lieutenant draws his 45 and holds it out of sight as the two soldiers approach.
‘Well I declare,’ says Jubel, ‘you weren’t trying to get through to Washington, were you, Lieutenant?
‘The set’s playing up. I cannot get a signal,’ replies the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant does not realise that Mordicai is silently creeping up behind him: still wearing the gimp-mask!
‘Now ain’t that a holy shame,’ replies Jubel, lowering his rifle. Peterson immediately covers Jubel and Elmer with his pistol.
‘Where’s Murphy?’ he demands.
‘Back there apiece – taking a little shuteye,’ grins Elmer Hagger.
Mordicai Hagger plunges his knife into the Lieutenant’s back! Peterson crumbles!
‘Hallelujah - I stuck him good, Jubel,’ boasts Mordicai.
‘What do we do now, Jubel?’ Elmer asks.
‘Get the money out of sight - bury it!’ answers Jubel.
While the Hagger boys break out the shovels, Jubel picks a spot by the large flat rock. Indian Joe has vanished!
The three soldiers start digging – hooting and hollering.
‘How much do we get, Jubel?’ Mordicai asks.
‘Enough for our kinfolk to ride in convertibles instead of on mules.’
‘Amen and Halleluiah!’ shouts Mordicai.
‘What happens to the rest, Jubel?’ Elmer asks.
‘It gets kicked upstairs to a fine bunch of old Southern gentlemen who planned the whole operation.’
The mortally wounded Peterson is regaining consciousness. He witnesses the soldiers burying the money. Using his knife, he scratches the memorised compass co-ordinates onto his dog-tags, with the letters ‘F-R’ (flat rock). The dying Lieutenant then tries to contact Col Smith again. The signal is weak as the satellite is passing out of range and the set is dying. However, Major Ely Bodeen picks up the receiver.
&nb
sp; ‘This is Delta 2,’ gasps the dying Lieutenant, ‘Is that you, Colonel Smith?’
‘Carry on Peterson,’ orders Major Bodeen – not answering the question.
‘I have been stabbed by Mordicai Hagger…. losing a lot of blood….they are burying the money, Sir!’
‘Goddamn it, Peterson – where are you?’ I want your exact co-ordinates!’ Major Bodeen demands.
‘On my dog-tags, Sir,’ replies Peterson weakly – then dies!
‘Mother…fucker!’ swears Major Bodeen.
At the large flat rock, the three Special Force soldiers have finished digging a deep hole. They begin to throw in the six big, sealed containers of money; all are taking pulls from a bottle of liquor.
‘Hey Jubel, how we gonna find this site again?’ Elmer asks.
‘We take a bearing with the Lieutenant’s compass - go get it, Mordicai.’
Mordicai Hagger searches the dead Lieutenant’s body.
‘He ain’t got a compass, Jubel. Goddamn!’
Jubel and Elmer rush over and frantically look for the compass.
‘Why the lousy, Yankee sister-fucker!’ Jubel Hogger swears.
‘What we gonna do now, Jubel?’ Mordicai asks.
‘We got Indian Joe, ain’t we?’ Jubel answers.
‘But Indian Joe took off, Jubel – just like you said,’ replies Mordicai.
‘He’ll be back – he just got rabbit in his blood, that’s all – he can get us back to camp. We get a compass and Indian Joe brings us back here. He then can join the Lieutenant and Murphy.’
The three soldiers complete filling in the hole containing the money.
Elmer notices Indian Joe approaching them from across the river.
‘Looki here, Jubel – our bird is returning to roost,’ whispers Elmer.
‘Steady boys,’ says Jubel, ‘don’t spook him none – he may get rabbit in his blood again – when he’s near grab him!’
‘We won’t be doing any grabbing, Jubel!’ says Elmer, ‘looks like he’s brought his kinfolk along!’
Cat-men warriors emerge from the jungle, cutting off all lines of retreat – their bows pulled taught! Each Cat-man wears a full jaguar skin covering his back and arms and ending in metal claws. The snarling cats heads are pulled over their faces, long whiskers protrude from their upper lips, long canines hang from the snarling mouths, bloodshot eyes stare from the empty eye sockets of the cat-skin. Some of the warriors growl…’jaguars that walk on two legs!’