Manus Xingue

by Jack Challis

  ‘Goddamn, McCoy!’ exclaims Major Bodeen. ‘I liked Sergeant Kane, and Edwards. It’s a shame they died but you know how tricky these Limey SAS boys are! Besides, I only take orders. Find anything else in the hut, Sergeant?’

  ‘Only a strong smell of cigar smoke, Sir,’ answers Sgt McCoy.

  ‘Mother….fuckers!’ swears the Major. ‘Goddamn, thieving, Limey sons-of-bitches! Stealing US Army property is the British soldiers’ favourite pastime.’ The Major cools down. ‘Well, I guess the British Army’s expenditure wouldn’t keep our PXs open for a week! Hell, it don’t matter none. Orders from the very top – no British survivors – understand? They are not to make it back to base!’

  ‘One more thing, Sir,’ says McCoy. ‘They killed Chevez.’

  ‘Goddamn - that peasant’s not worth a hundred cents of stale hog-shit. Now I have to give them the million dollars – for a spell anyway.’ Major Bodeen takes a hip-flask from his pocket and pops a tablet into the flask. ‘This should make the wild colonial boy, Dublin, a little tamer. Bring him to me alone – I want a quiet word.’

  Major Bodeen greets Dublin warmly. ‘Hello Frank. Sorry to hear about the deaths of your two comrades; I knew them both from our Gulf days. Well done – Chevez was one sneaky mother.’

  Dublin hands Bodeen two self-sealing plastic envelopes, one containing the dog-tags of the missing US soldiers and the other the shrivelled left ear of Chevez. Bodeen hands Dublin his hip-flask.

  ‘I promised your CO, Captain Price-Palmer, cash on delivery.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to check Chevez’s DNA for confirmation, Sir?’ Dublin asks, taking a long pull from the hip-flask.

  ‘No Sireee,’ answers Major Bodeen. ‘Your word is good enough for me, Frank.’ The major turns and calls out…. ‘Lieutenant Dupree, bring that hold-all over here.’ In that brief moment, when the Major’s eyes are diverted, Dublin spits out the drink!

  Standing a few yards away, Lacy notices this and knows something is wrong for Dublin to reject a drink. Lt Dupree hands Dublin the hold-all. Dublin opens it. ‘One million dollars cash, as agreed,’ assures the Major. Dublin checks the money and closes the hold-all.

  ‘When will our share of the Iraq money be ready?’ Dublin asks.

  ‘As soon as we get back to base, Frank - it’s sitting there waiting for you,’ replies Bodeen. ‘You just got to pick it up – it’s all in a weapons crate – we’ll even fly you back to Belize.’

  ‘I want to call Captain Price-Palmer on your CT set – tell him the money is ready,’ requests Dublin.

  ‘Too risky, Frank. I still have a patrol out - don’t want to alert the Brazilians that we are here. It would be a crying shame to have to take off leaving my boys behind.

  ‘Does your buddy know, about our deal?’ Major Bodeen enquires.

  ‘Nothing,’ answers Dublin, ‘and he is not my buddy – he’s a rookie – he is not even in 21 squadron.’

  ‘Where is the Marpari tracker we sent you, Frank?’ the Major asks. ‘Disappeared - as soon as we entered Kier Verde country!’ answers Dublin.

  Bodeen smiles. ‘Did you find another tracker along the way?’

  ‘No need,’ answers Dublin, ‘Sgt Kane and me are decent trackers.’

  ‘Ok, Frank, join your friend.’

  As Dublin walks towards Lacy, Major Bodeen calls over Lt Dupree, the intelligence officer, who has been watching and listening to the conversation. ‘What do you think, Dupree?’ Bodeen asks. ‘Dublin lied about the Marpari – does he know the bigger picture?’

  ‘We have photographic proof from the heli-gimble camera,’ says Lt Dupree. ‘Manus Xingue was with the Limeys after they crossed the Japari River. Mind you, Sir, Manus Xingue could have fooled the Limeys just like he did Lt Peterson – we now know Manus Xingue killed the Marpari tracker we sent to meet the SAS boys! But Dublin suspects something,’ continues Lt Dupree; ‘he spat out the drink you gave him!’

  ‘Hell,’ answers the Major, ‘that’s going to make your job a lot trickier!’

  ‘I will place Sgt McCoy, our wrestling champion, behind Dublin in the chopper!’ Dupree answers, ‘and climb to a high altitude! However there is a possibility Manus Xingue did not show the Limeys Lt Peterson’s dog-tags.’

  ‘We can’t take that chance,’ answers Major Bodeen. ‘Just make sure Frank Dublin doesn’t get back to base–and Lieutenant – make sure the million does not leave with Dublin!’

  Dublin returns to Lacy, who senses something is wrong. ‘What’s up Frank?’ he asks.

  ‘Something’s going on,’ replies Dublin. ‘I was slipped a Mickey Finn in the drink by the Major.’

  ‘What do we do now, Frank?’ the worried Lacy asks.

  ‘A penny to a pinch of snuff,’ replies Dublin, ‘if they separate us, they intend to kill us both, for sure!’

  Lacy is shocked and for once speechless at the sudden turn of events.

  ‘Just watch points and leave everything it to me.’ says Dublin.

  Fifty metres away, Major Bodeen speaks to Lt Dupree and Sergeant McCoy. ‘I want Manus Xingue’s body bagged and taken back to base for definite identification.’ Bodeen and Dupree then walk over to Dublin and Lacy.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ says the Major, ‘but I will have to split you two boys up on the way back, just to even the load in the chopper.’

  Dublin and Lacy exchange knowing looks!’

  Sergeant Jed Hogger approaches. ‘Sir, the wild Indian called Manus Xingue we found dead on the trail - has up and high tailed it!’

  Dublin and Lacy do not hear this information!

  ‘Goddamn it - we need that son-of-a-bitch dead,’ swears Bodeen, who hurries away to the scene with Dupree.

  Reaching the spot where Manus Xingue once lay, Major Bodeen shouts his orders. ‘Sgt Hogger, take a Marpari tracker and one of your men – I want that wild Indian back – dead! – and Sergeant – I want a DNA sample from him.’

  ‘Is it worth the trouble, Sir?’ Dupree asks. ‘We are pushing our luck just being here. Besides, wild Indians don’t have use for paper money.’

  ‘He could tell someone else - who has!’ Major Bodeen replies.

  ‘He won’t have time, Sir.’ Dupree answers. ‘As soon as I’m back at base I could get a chopper and fly to the co-ordinates, pick up the money and be back at base in six hours!’

  ‘Ok Lieutenant – do that,’ says the Major, ‘but I still want that son-of-a-bitch Manus Xingue dead! Now leave with C Platoon – take Dublin with you – don’t underestimate him! We’ll take care of Lacy, his rookie buddy, while we wait for the incoming patrol and Sgt Hogger.’

  Dublin speaks urgently to Lacy, looking him straight in the eyes.

  ‘Are you sure we are square – no more grudges?’

  To Jack Lacy, those brutal days of Selection, the life-threatening ordeal of interrogation at the cruel hands of the man standing before him, now seemed a long time ago.

  ‘Make your bloody mind up, sharpish - you Cockney twat!’ Dublin urges. ‘We don’t have much time!’

  ‘We are square, Frank,’ Lacy answers.

  ‘Good,’ replies Dublin, opening the hold-all and showing the one million dollars to the ex-marine.

  ‘Get this in your Bergen a bit lively,’ orders Dublin, refilling the hold-all with rations. ‘This is your chance – make a break for it,’ continues Dublin.

  Lacy looks horrified. ‘What - on my tod, without a weapon!’ he protests.

  Dublin hands Lacy his entrenching tool. ‘It has a sharp edge - best I can do.’

  ‘What about you?’ Lacy asks.

  ‘I have to go back to base for reasons of my own,’ answers Dublin. ‘I am a gambler – there’s a ten-to-one chance the money is back at Base! Just make sure you get this money back to Price-Palmer – your share will be a third. Get going – head west as the crow flies.’

  ‘There’s a man-eating cat out there!’ Lacy exclaims.

  ‘Look, travel at the hottest time of the day – most predators lie low
then – sleep up a tree. You’ll soon reach the trail where I shot the anaconda. Dig Jim’s body up – take his weapon and ammo – continue west – you’ll reach a small town called Villas Santos – after you’ve crossed the Rio Negro.’

  Jack Lacy looks horrified. ‘Fuck me gently – the Sergeant’s body will be reels of cotton – covered in crawling maggots!’

  ‘Look, I tried to take your life once,’ admits Dublin. ‘I’m now giving you a fighting chance to save it!’

  Lacy has a last request. He knows this request will go down ‘like the Titanic’. ‘Frank, can I have your sovereigns – your escape belt?’

  ‘Why, you useless Cockney ponce,’ answers Dublin, ‘what will you need my sovereigns for?’

  ‘I can’t spend any of the million, can I, in Villa Santos – to get out.’

  Dublin studies Lacy for a moment and grins – takes off his escape belt and hands it to Lacy.

  ‘Listen,’ whispers Dublin urgently, ‘I want you to take the co-ordinates back to Price-Palmer – tell him I changed the zero to a six – it will buy him some time to get the money out – you won’t be forgotten if we pull the big one off.’

  The conversation ceases when Major Bodeen, Lt Dupree and several armed soldiers arrive.

  ‘We are ready to take off, Frank,’ announces Bodeen. ‘We have a strict schedule.’ Dublin holds out his battered right hand – Lacy shakes it gently. The Irishman palms a small piece of blood-covered paper into Lacy’s mitt. Dublin turns and heads for the helicopter, closely followed by Lt Dupree and several armed men. Lacy watches and waits his chance – then runs into the jungle – when all eyes are on the tricky Dublin.

  The extremely fit, young ex-marine tears through the jungle, blindly, until the advice of Sergeant Jim Kane echoes in his brain – ‘noise in the jungle only attracts unwanted attention!’ Lacy stops; the only sound he can hear now is his rapidly beating heart and gasping lungs. It’s only then that he looks at the small piece of paper Dublin palmed him. It is the co-ordinates of the buried money – red-stained. ‘Typical, thick Paddy,’ muses Lacy to himself, ‘had to write it down!’

  The co-ordinates do not excite or impress Lacy much. ‘Carpe Diem’ is Lacy’s motto; besides, he has a million in cash already in his possession. Lacy places the co-ordinates of the thirty-eight million dollars buried in a desolate riverbank in his pocket. He then begins to count a large wad of money as a battle rages in his ex-marine mind. Should he be sensible with his money or adopt the ‘Jolly Jack Tar ashore’ attitude, so close to his nature? Should he, for example, spend his share of the money wisely on strong lager with rum chasers and a tour of the world’s whorehouses or should he squander it on a small gaff and jam-jar for himself and his bit of Jack and Danny, the ever tolerant and patient Sally?

  Rubbing his stubbled chin, he ponders the quandary. He could keep all the money and enjoy both options – he was a tea-leaf after all! However, these thoughts are fleeting – suddenly the jungle floor seems to have come to life – looking down at his feet – the ground is moving! A quick check of the jungle floor brings Lacy quickly back to reality and his hostile environment.

  Lacy watches in horror as thousands of match-stick thin leeches are arching, feeling their way towards him, homing in on his exhaled carbon dioxide. He quickly steps out of reach of the primeval parasites and watches them trying to re-locate him. Suddenly, the dangers of being alone and unarmed strike home. The shrill cry of an animal nearby pierces the late afternoon vespers of insect hum!

  Lacy looks around nervously, gripping the entrenching tool. Was the sound anything to do with the presence of the man-eater?

  The ex-marine SAS trooper remembers Dublin’s advice and looks at his watch. It is four o’clock and the midday heat is on the wane. It is time to get his arse up a tree – away from the encroaching leaches that have now located his new position – or any other danger possibly lurking nearby. Lacy begins urgently to look around for a suitable tree to climb and spend the night in.

  All humans are semi-endowed – left with a remaining scintilla of a sixth sense, once fully enjoyed by our distant ancestors, at the time when human beings were easy prey to most carnivores. Although this sixth sense lies mostly dormant in the distant brain, Lacy’s distant brain suddenly kicks in – his movements become urgent! He picks out a large tree that is in the process of being parasitised by a strangler fig. He nimbly climbs up the thick vine to a height of twenty feet; making himself comfortable, he rolls a cigarette and lays back resting his feet up on a convenient vine loop.

  After giving the million dollars a good coat of looking over and inspecting the sovereigns, Lacy falls asleep in his lofty perch, hidden from view. Were the young rookie SAS misfit to wake up and look down, he would be horrified at the sight that would greet him! For below, standing in the dappled shade, on the exact spot he had first stood on - is the man-eater!

  The large cat has given up following the jungle-wise Chevez and Maria when they become aware of its presence – like all man-eaters, it prefers surprise.

  The big cat then becomes attracted by the human activity from the west. This is another chance to secure a human victim. The big cat watched the American soldiers from the dense cover, waiting for an opportunity, waiting for one of them to stray away from the others. Earlier that year it had killed a lone soldier but now the opportunity does not arise. Although the American soldiers do not notice Lacy slip away, the man-eater does. However, the hungry big cat has to make a long detour around all the soldiers before it can catch up to its intended victim.

  The man-eater is cautious after being wounded twice. Its wounds are still painful and the damaged muscles stiff. The jaguar is now very hungry and craves human flesh. Man is slow, physically weak and so conveniently packaged without hair and a thick hide. The man-eater keeps down-wind behind Lacy. During Lacy’s frantic dash through the jungle, the man-eater has lost sight of him temporarily - it does not see him climb into the tree!

  Losing touch with its intended victim, the big cat crouches and scans its surroundings, waiting to spot movement – or a giveaway sound. The fresh scent of a human is still strong in the breezeless humid air.

  Suddenly the man-eater also notices the thousands of leeches arching towards its rosette-covered hide. Big cats, like humans, detest these parasites; the jaguar hurried on. Lady Luck has smiled on the young SAS man again for jaguars are good climbers and Jack Lacy is fast asleep in his tree!

  Two hours earlier on the jungle trail, the heavy rainfall had prematurely revived the evil Shaman of the Cat People, Manus Xingue, from the poison of the sleeping death delivered by a Kier Verde dart. Seeing the attentions of the soldiers were on other matters, he had slipped into the jungle unnoticed. It did not take Manus Xingue long to find his bow and quiver of arrows thrown into the jungle by the Invisible People. Nevertheless, it was the great loss of his fibre belt with the three attached, prized, shrunken skulls with red and blond hair that grieved him most - they gave him much power. Such rare skulls were going to be very difficult to replace!

  While crouching in the jungle waiting for a chance to escape; Manus Xingue had also noticed the blond-headed Jack Lacy making a break for freedom – heading west. The Shaman of the Cat-people had other matters on his mind for the moment - he had to rejoin his warriors who were near, and waiting for him, but Manus Xingue made a mental note of the direction Lacy had taken!

  Meanwhile on board the first helicopter that is returning to base, Frank Dublin is on his guard. Lieutenant Dupree has placed the Irishman by the open door of the aircraft! Behind Dublin sits the burly Sgt McCoy; opposite, sit two soldiers, rifles at the ready. In total, the transport chopper carries another dozen armed soldiers of C platoon.

  Dublin sums up the situation – it does not look good! He has been discreetly placed by an open door of the troop transporter helicopter with the powerful McCoy directly behind him – to Dublin this can only mean trouble!

  Perhaps the experienced SAS trooper regrets his decis
ion not to have left with Lacy. However, the tough Irishman is not going to cry over spilt milk; he will see this through – perhaps the money is back at base – and he is being paranoid.

  The two stumps of Dublin’s missing fingers throb as the helicopter gains unnecessary altitude. Alarm bells began to ring in Dublin’s head as the chopper climbs even higher – why? Dublin had a good idea why – now! His good left arm subtly positions his small magnum Pit-bull five-shot revolver concealed on his body – his wounded right arm is hooked around the metal grip-frame for support. Suddenly the chopper violently banks to the right. At the same time, Sgt McCoy grabs Dublin from behind and tries to force him out of the chopper’s open door!

  Lt Dupree quickly snatches the hold-all from Dublin’s grasp while Dublin and Sgt McCoy struggle. The powerful Dublin reaches over his shoulder with his good left hand, fastens on to his attacker’s collar and, placing one knee on the floor for leverage, throws his assailant over his shoulder - into thin air!

  This rapid action takes Lieutenant Dupree and his armed soldiers completely by surprise. Recovering, they bring their weapons to bear. The Irishman has to work quickly - he is still framed by the opened door of the helicopter – their shots at him will not damage the aircraft. To combat this danger the experienced and ruthless SAS trooper does something that is totally unexpected – an act which horrifies all the US Special Force soldiers aboard. Dublin draws his revolver and shoots the pilot of the helicopter through the back of the head!

  Dublin, and the people who trained him when he entered the SAS regiment as a young paratrooper, would understand the origins of this drastic action. Some SAS troopers are prepared to die if there is no other option, taking as many of the enemy with them. It could be said this was an act of a brave man – or maybe an act of a frightened man who needed company on his journey into the abyss! Some troopers are willing to take a gamble, a one-in-a-hundred chance, they may just survive. Others, not as brave, will wait and see and accept what fate has in store! One thing is certain, SAS trooper Frank Dublin was no compensation soldier. He signed up to die or live with no compromises. In short, a real soldier who would complain to peers, never to a lawyer.