by Jack Challis
The high velocity round from Dublin’s snub-nosed Pit-bull enters the pilot’s head via his medulla oblongata and exited via his right eye socket, tearing brain and bone apart in its progress. But with whatever brain matter that remains undamaged, be it by instinct or training, the pilot struggles to keep the aircraft level without even turning to see who shot him!
This small piece of undamaged brain dedicates itself to keeping the aircraft stable. However, the deadly calmness of the pilot does not apply to the rest of the panicking US Special Force soldiers who forget about their intended victim–SAS trooper Frank Dublin – and concentrate on their personal survival!
The US Special Force soldiers can only think of the distance they are above Mother Earth. These are the best America has but they do not contemplate death as part of the deal when they join up – you don’t have to die in modern America to be a hero – just wearing a uniform is enough. That is the difference between them and Frank Dublin.
The Irish SAS trooper grips the metal grip-frame at the side of the open door with his battered and mangled hand ignoring the searing pain as the helicopter sways from port to starboard. He only concentrates on covering his antagonists with his Pit-bull, awaiting the outcome with the fatalistic character of a Buddhist monk.
The Black Hawk keeps violently banking from left to right as the mortally wounded pilot struggles with the controls. But blind instinct can never overcome death. After mumbling some profanities, the pilot slumps on his controls and dies!
The Black Hawk dips its nose and dives towards the jungle two thousand feet below. The G-force throws everyone, friend and foe, into the tail end. There is no escape!
The following morning Jack Lacy awakes with the first light, stretches, yawns and rolls a fag, while giving the world around him a good coat of looking over. He is now a man with a mission. During the night, it has come to him that spending his share, or the entire amount of money, on whorehouses and lager (not immediately available to tempt him anyway) is not the correct way to make best use of his windfall. The money would be much better spent on a small home for Sally.
He is now a man with responsibilities. He suspects Sally has one up the spout – a bun in the oven. He just hopes the baby is his and not some randy guardsman’s in Edwards’ and Dublin’s wind-up.
Nevertheless, the happy-go-lucky ex-marine, Lacy, is not going to worry about it – he never dwells on problems long. He is now a badged member of the finest in the world and he has lots of dosh!
Lacy eats a cold breakfast, takes a piss from a lofty height, rolls another fag and looks at his watch. It is 10 a.m. and the temperature is rising – time to continue his odyssey.
According to Dublin, predators would be getting their heads down by now;, sleeping during the hottest time of the day. Jack Lacy, the misfit, who slipped through the fine SAS Selection net, now feels like a free spirit, a Jolly Jack Tar with bulging pockets. All the same, he wishes there is just one bar and whorehouse on his route to tempt his new resolve.
After a good look around, Lacy slips from his safe shelter in the strangler fig and heads west. After a few kilometres he stops, lights his roll-up dog-end and consults his map and compass. Lady Luck has smiled on Lacy on this operation – you could even say she is sitting on his shoulders, legs astride his neck, without corals. She was still keeping the dour Atropos, who cuts the threads of life, at bay! For within spitting distance, almost invisible to the casual glance and coiled like a giant compressed spring, lies a bushmaster, a Siracucu – one of nature’s own natural booby traps.
This snake, the largest of all vipers, second only in size to the infamous hamadryad (king cobra) of Asia, has two-inch long, hypodermic fangs and massive venom glands packed with deadly haematoxins and neurotoxins! Lacy possesses no anti-serum for this snake!
All vipers have a lightning strike; this species can reach to within two-thirds of their length in one lunge. This particular snake is twelve foot long – Lacy is nine feet away – one foot out of range! The bushmaster is a perfect judge of distance. Lady Luck has smiled on the ex-marine SAS trooper again. Throwing his butt away, Lacy moves on, and away from danger. What he does not know is that Lady Luck will not be riding him this night – when he picks his night’s shelter – in fact she will be looking the other way!
Major Ely Bodeen is just finishing his report to his immediate superior, Colonel Homer Clay, back at headquarters, Missouri.
‘Goddamn it, Ely. How am I going to get you out of this shit-hole? – this business is giving me a prostate the size of a baseball! A transport chopper and sixteen men lost – General Devereux will chew my southern balls.’
‘We could say it was brought down by hostile fire, Homer,’ suggests Ely.
‘Over Brazilian territory! Goddamn it, Ely – start another world war? What has happened to the other Limey?
‘He got rabbit in his blood and took off,’ replies Major Ely Bodeen. ‘He won’t last long, Homer – he is unarmed and as green as Kermit’s arse.’
‘Send some men after him,’ orders Clay. ‘I want no witnesses – wait there until your men bring that SAS Limey back. I am sending two Black Hawks to pick the money up – I want that Limey in a body bag. Make a pig’s prick of this, Ely, and I will have you back shovelling hog-shit in the Appalachians.’ The Colonel slams the phone down.
Bodeen calls a sergeant over. ‘Sergeant Hogger, I want you to follow up the Limey who took off – take one man with you and a Marpari tracker. The Limey and the tracker do not return, understand – I want no witnesses!’
Fifteen kilometres away and two hours before Major Bodeen makes his call to Colonel Clay reporting the loss of the transport chopper…. Chevez and his wife Maria are making good progress through the jungle. Realising the danger from the man-eater and the American soldiers has passed, both are happy. This is the start of a new life – no one hunts a dead man. Once they have built a simple hut and cleared a plot, they will return to Maria’s people, the feared Kier Verde, and collect their child.
The sound of an American transport helicopter’s straining engines overhead makes them look up. The large helicopter is spiralling to earth - several men fall from the open doorway to their death. The aircraft crashes through the canopy and ends up a smoking wreck – but does not catch alight or explode.
Chevez and Maria approach cautiously and study the scene of carnage before them. Several bodies lie crumpled some way from the crash site. Chevez holds his old, prized Mauser at the ready and approaches the wreck.
Frank Dublin is alive and leaning against the broken hull of the downed aircraft. The Irish SAS trooper is badly mangled and seems unable to move – he holds his bleeding stomach and is still fully conscious. He looks longingly at a bottle of Jack Daniels, just out of his reach.
Dublin sees Chevez and Maria; he watches the couple approach. It is only when Maria is closer that she recognises Dublin, the man who would have killed her husband in cold blood at their first meeting.
‘Top of the morning to you – how she cutting?’ smiles the Irishman between clenched teeth – you are supposed to be dead, Chevez!’
‘Señor, how can we help you?’ Maria asks, looking at the SAS trooper’s horrendous wounds.
Dublin nods towards the bottle of Jack Daniels lying a few feet away.
‘Señor!’ exclaims Maria, ‘you have a stomach wound – you should not drink alcohol!’
Chevez realises the Irishman is dying and grants his last wish, holding the bottle to the SAS soldier’s lips. Dublin gulps the fiery liquid – all three then watch the liquor spill through Dublin’s open stomach wounds. The Irishman grimaces as the strong alcohol burns his mangled innards.
‘What can we do for you, Señor?’ repeats Maria.
‘Give me one of your home-made bullets in the head now – Jesus, the pain is getting worse – and make sure this time the shot does not misfire!’ Dublin demands, looking straight at Chevez. Chevez acknowledges Dublin’s request with a nod.
Dublin f
umbles in his pocket, brings out his rosary and mumbles the Hail Mary. A distant, peaceful look comes over the Irishman’s bloody face. He hears a faint sad lilt of Irish pipes and the soft laughter of women; he turns to look for them – when a home-made bullet from Chevez’s rifle smashes into his head, shattering the Irishman’s nostalgic and last distant memories! Dublin slumps forward. Chevez and Maria cross themselves.
The spirit of the Irish exile had now returned to the green fields of Wexford in the beautiful Emerald Isle, where he could only return to in spirit.
Chevez and Maria remain silent for a moment, each with their own thoughts. Chevez breaks the silence.
‘Maria, we must go - other soldiers will come soon to this place.’
Maria does not answer but picks up an entrenching tool and hands it to Chevez.
‘First, bury him,’ she orders. ‘He has given us a chance of a new life and kept his word – the Madonna is waiting to greet his soul!’
Chevez does not argue: he knows his wife – that’s why he married her. There is also a possibility Chevez has a sneaking admiration for the Irishman.
Chevez places his rifle in a handy position and starts to dig. While Chevez is busy, Maria collects all the scattered US equipment that may prove useful in their future life deep in the isolation of Brazil’s Matto Grosso.
Maria fills kit-bags with medical supplies and food. She also finds valuable cartridges for her shotgun.
When both have finished their respective tasks, they drag the heavy body of Frank Dublin into the shallow grave, and bury him. They place heavy stones on top to stop wild animals from digging up the body. Chevez finds Dublin’s Pit-bull revolver, with spare ammunition, and gives it to Maria. The couple leave, heavily laden.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE COVEN OF VAMPIRES
Jack Lacy is in good heart, totally unaware of his fortuitous escape from the man-eater and the bushmaster! To the young rookie SAS trooper, the jungle is not such a frightening place. After all he has spent the night alone, unarmed and has survived. He has not yet seen a single E-type spider and, wrongly, considers himself jungle-hardened.
The young SAS trooper is good at one thing – navigation – and he works out he will reach the Rio Negro River the following day. From then on it will be simple. Lacy fills his water bottle at every opportunity and always makes sure that he has a full canteen before retiring at night. He still has two days’ rations left. Nevertheless he still has one fear; crossing the Rio Negro. He knows the dangers of a crossing a river alone. Apart from crocodiles (caimen are less dangerous) there are piranha, anacondas and the little fish that love to swim up the ‘one-eyed trouser-snake’. Lacy does not fancy that at all, besides, he has no condoms left. He will have to protect his genitals with one hand – as the indians do. However this will not be easy while swimming!
Keeping to course, Lacy works out he is fifteen kilometres from the river; he begins to look for a place to spend the night. The young SAS trooper looks for another strangler fig, similar to the one that gave him safe shelter the night before.
Twenty-six kilometres away, Chevez and Maria are moving through the jungle but in the opposite direction to Lacy. They are heading deeper east into the wilderness to build a new home and a new life. Suddenly Maria stops and puts down all she is carrying! Chevez quickly does the same to free his arms; he rams a shell into the breech of his old Mauser.
‘What is it, Maria?’ Chevez asks urgently, looking around for the potential danger. Maria does not answer but places her finger to her lips.
‘Be quite, Chevez,’ Maria replies, standing perfectly still and looking all around, her senses on full alert! Chevez is a little confused but remains on guard. ‘Maria,’ whispers Chevez, ‘what’s the matter? – I see nothing – where shall I look?’
Maria sniffs the air. ‘Be calm, Chevez – we are not in danger. I can sense my people – they are here – watching!’
Chevez relaxes; he has learnt to trust his wife’s judgment. Maria begins to look around, as if playing some game with her tribe, the Kier Verde – the Invisible People. Her eyes then settle on a patch of jungle, her smile turns to a grin. Chevez follows his wife’s gaze.
‘I can still see nothing!’ says Chevez.
‘Chevez,’ answers Maria, ‘I have taught you all I know – and you still know nothing. Just half-close your eyes and look through the leaves.’ Chevez squints and stares hard, then… ‘Ah, now I see – the Invisible People – but how did you know, cara mia?’ Chevez asks.
‘I sense them first – I feel their presence and then I smell the River Orchid – my people use it on their bodies – only we Kier Verde are sensitive to the orchid’s fragrance.’
Groups of warriors appear from the jungle, lowering their masks. With the warriors are Rondo and Apari.
‘Why are you here?’ asks Maria, her eyes searching the group for her sister, Tapia, and her child, who are not present. ‘Why are you not protecting our village? Where is Tapia and my child?’
‘We sent the women and children with the other warriors deep into the jungle,’ replies Rondo. Tapia and your child are safe, Maria. We must find out what the soldiers want and which way they are going. Yuma is watching them and will be here soon – to report.’
‘Where are you going, Chevez?’ Rondo asks.
‘We are going deeper into the jungle to build a new home in the land of the Kier Verde – I must protect Maria and the child from the Cat-people.’
‘What about the soldiers?’ Rondo asks.
‘The soldiers will not bother us anymore!’ Maria answers. ‘We must now worry about the Cat-people who are still in our land. We must drive them back across the Japari River.’
‘What has happened to Manus Xingue?’ Chevez asks.
‘We captured Manus Xingue,’ answers Apari. ‘He was behind you and Maria on the track this morning – ready to kill you!’
‘Gracias, amigos – did you kill him?’ Chevez asks.
‘No,’ answers Apari, ‘we gave him the sleeping death poison. We were taking him to the Rio Xingue to kill him in the river, to let his blood and spirit return to his own land.’
Chevez shakes his head in disbelief, his small bullet-eyes flashing. ‘You have to kill a man like Manus Xingue whenever you get the chance – he is only flesh and blood, his spirit cannot harm you.’
‘Maybe the soldiers killed him.’ Rondo adds.
Yuma returns and hears the conversation. ‘No, the soldiers did not kill Manus Xingue – they thought he was dead and left him on the track. The heavy rain helped him to recover and he got away – I saw him leave but I could not kill him – the soldiers were so close.’
‘Chevez!’ Maria exclaims, ‘the jaguar that walks on two legs I saw last night was Manus Xingue!’ Chevez is exasperated at the Kier Verde’s superstition.
‘Look, amigos – I will prove to you that Manus Xingue is just a man – not a jaguar spirit. The man-eater and Manus Xingue are two different beings.’
The Kier Verde indians and the newly converted Maria are not convinced.
‘The Bible says that man has a spirit soul,’ argues Maria. ‘Manus Xingue’s spirit soul is the jaguar who walks on two legs, and eats man-meat!’
‘Look,’ answers Chevez, not wanting to get involved in a religious debate with his wife, ‘I will prove to you Manus Xingue is only flesh and blood.’ Chevez turns to Yuma. ‘Which way did he go?’
‘Manus Xingue went west,’ Yuma answers.
‘West?’ repeats Chevez surprised.
‘Yes,’ answers Yuma, ‘he followed one of the white soldiers that ran away from the Americans – one of the soldiers that followed us – the one with yellow hair!’
‘Did the soldier with the yellow hair have a gun?’ Chevez asks.
‘No,’ answers Yuma, ‘the Americanos took his gun away!’
‘Manus Xingue must be killed,’ announces Maria. ‘He has come to our land to capture me!’
‘Yes,’ adds Apari, ‘and his
tribe, the Cat-people, have followed his trail here.’
‘I will have to kill Manus Xingue,’ says Chevez. ‘He knows the secret crossing now!’
If Manus Xingue is not killed,’ adds Rondo ‘the Cat-people will keep coming to our land – I will come with you, Chevez, and help you kill the cat-spirit.’
‘No!’ Chevez replies, ‘all the warriors will be needed here to fight the jaguars that walk on two legs – who are just men dressed in the skins of jaguars – nothing else. I will go after Manus Xingue – look after Maria.’
‘No!’ Maria shouts. ‘Manus Xingue will kill you – your gun will not save you – he is too clever for you in the jungle.’
‘You have a child to look after!’ Chevez protests.
‘I also need the child to have a father, and me a husband,’ answers Maria. ‘We both go now – just take what we need. Manus Xingue has a good lead but he is in our land now. I will use trails only we Kier Verde know – maybe we can save the life of the young soldier with yellow hair – he saved your life twice, Chevez!’
Chevez does not argue. He helps Maria distribute what they had salvaged at the crash site to the Kier Verde, only filling their shoulder bags with essentials for their pursuit of Manus Xingue. The Kier Verde watch the couple leave; then disappear, merging back into the jungle foliage.
About two hours before darkness, Jack Lacy finds what he is looking for – another strangler fig. However, Lady Luck is not smiling on him this time; Jack Lacy’s choice of shelter is unfortunate and will endanger his life during the night! On this occasion, the parasitic fig has already done its work. The host tree has collapsed under the weight and the constriction of the creeping tendrils of the fig. This only leaves a fifteen-foot hollow trunk to which the strangler fig still clings. Lacy climbs as far up as possible, to about ten feet and makes himself comfortable.