Into the Jungle

by David M. Salkin

  Everyone stood slowly, putting away their gear and checking weapons, then moving towards the smell of coffee. Moose had made enough for everyone and poured some into a small cup, which he brought to Theresa.

  She smiled through tired eyes and thanked him, then sipped the very strong coffee. “Yup,” she said, “Same recipe the marines use for mud.”

  Julia leaned towards her and said, “I think he likes you, likes you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well don’t think I don’t see what’s going on with you and your little friend over there, sister. You getting soft on me?”

  Julia smiled, her teeth very white against the smeared paint on her face. “Maybe,” she said softly.

  “Oh, God,” moaned Theresa. “You’re a goner. This is a first.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Cascaes—speak of the devil—calling out softly to his men.

  “Okay everybody, listen up. We are going to stay together for another mile or so, then we should be getting very close. At the appropriate place, we’ll split into three groups. The main group will stay on the trail behind Fuzzy and try and find the village. The other two teams will take our flanks and move out about two hundred yards. Team one will be Hodges, Santos, Smitty, and McCoy on the left flank. If possible, Hodges will find a position to set up his sniper rifle and cover the village from the west side as the main body comes in from the south. Mackey will take team two on the right flank with Woods, Koches, Stewart and O’Conner. Assuming we find the village undetected, we will stay silent until dark. The Guaranis don’t like moving at night, as Fuzzy can attest to, and I doubt Vega’s men have night vision equipment. We’ll go in quiet, silencers on, and take out Vega and all of his men. If we get lucky and find that the terrorist targets are there as well, we’ll take them out, too. Avoid contact with the natives if you can help it. They are dangerous, but they aren’t our objective. If they run, do not pursue. I’d just as soon have them take off into the jungle and not fight them at all. If all goes well and we take out the targets, we’ll rig whatever drug operations he has going out there with explosives as we exit.

  “Everyone make sure your locators are working, check your throat mics, and make sure you stay with a buddy like you were on a dive mission. Nobody goes off alone out here, understand? The jungle is only going to get thicker up ahead and if you get lost out here, you’re fucked. Everybody clear?”

  The team members nodded, and assembled their silencers to their weapons. Mackey slung his shotgun over his back, since it was deafening and didn’t have a silencer. He pulled an MP-5 “Room Broom” out of his backpack, slapped in a thirty-round magazine, and fitted a silencer.

  Cascaes put on his throat mic and began checking each team member’s reception. As he said their names, one at a time, they each confirmed that they heard him. He then opened a small laptop and pulled up a screen that showed a map grid and numbered circles in a tight blob. Each number was a team member, located by the small tracking device they wore. Cascaes checked in with Langley, gave their location, and reported that their locators and communication equipment were now “live.” While CIA headquarters couldn’t see them by satellite, they could follow the team by locators and listen in on their transmissions.

  Fuzzy led them back up the trail, which was visible only to him, and they stayed together single file and silent. The jungle was changing as they walked, from well spaced giant trees with under-story growth and soft ferns, to thick spiny vines, giant alien looking shrubs with bright flowers and razor sharp thorns, and heavy vines that hung everywhere. It was losing the “forest” feel, and becoming more ominous. Even Fuzzy had to slow down as he maneuvered around plants designed to destroy skin.

  The air was thick with humidity again, and giant insects were everywhere. The most brilliant azure butterflies would fill the sky one minute, attracted by some bright flower, and then a cloud of buzzing flies or mosquitoes would descend the next. The team eventually stopped to spray DEET all over themselves in an attempt to hide from the mosquitoes, but it was fairly useless. Fuzzy pointed out an eleven foot anaconda wrapped in a tree, a huge lump in its belly from something it had eaten in the last few days. Whatever it had been, it made a bulge in the snake’s midsection that was as big as Fuzzy.

  Once, Julia had picked an orange flower off a bush and handed it to Cascaes when no one was watching. He tried to look like a hard-ass and put his finger over his mouth to remind her to remain silent, and she responded by blowing him a silent kiss. He shook his head and shoved the flower in his pocket. Each of them knew the other was going to be trouble if they didn’t get killed first.

  By midday, the team came to a small creek and watched in amazement as Fuzzy got down on all fours like a dog to lap up the water. He didn’t even use his hands to cup the water, he just shoved his face into the stream and drank. Mackey let everyone take a break and eat a meal replacement bar. He offered one to Fuzzy, who smelled it, turned up his nose, and instead pulled a caterpillar off of a rotting log and ate it. Half way through, he realized his rudeness, and offered it to Mackey, who politely declined.

  Theresa happened to see the incident and whispered, “Oh, go ahead, they taste like almonds.” He just looked at her and waved his power bar.

  After a quick drink from their canteens, and a few quick trips into the bushes for personal moments, the team was back on the trail, which was now very thick mud. Fuzzy spoke quietly to Julia, who whispered to Mackey that they were very close to where the Pampidos warning signs had been. They walked through the greenish brown ooze, pulling their boots out of each step as they went. Somehow Fuzzy managed to stay on top of the mud, while everyone else fought to keep from being sucked to their knees. It was exhausting, and they were all very relieved when they reach a small bank that was dry. Fuzzy squatted and turned to Julia, shaking his head. Mackey didn’t have to ask—this was as far as Fuzzy wanted to go. Fuzzy whispered to Julia, and then turned back and disappeared into the jungle. It was the end of the road for him.

  Mackey motioned to Cascaes, who was team leader when it came to combat. Cascaes held up one finger and Team One quietly spread out to the left flank and crawled up to peer over the bank. Cascaes then held up a second finger, and Mackey took his men to the right, also inching up the bank to see what was waiting for them.

  Santos, in Team One, was the first one up the embankment, and slowly raised his face to peer over the edge. The jungle opened up quite a bit, allowing sunlight into a small rocky clearing. He belly crawled forward and stopped in some giant leaves, then pulled out his small binoculars. He scanned for a few seconds before he saw what had scared Fuzzy away the last trip.

  Two long poles stood at the other side of the clearing. Each of them had a head affixed to the top, the pole having been shoved through the bottom jaw. The skulls hadn’t been boiled out to nice clean white bone, but had instead been festering and feeding the bugs. The hair hung matted from the decayed heads, and as Santos focused clearer, he could see that genitalia, presumably from one of the poor victims, had been shoved into the mouth of one of the skulls. The other skull had a large opening near the top where the victim had apparently suffered a major fracture. Looking farther along the tree line, he saw other body parts and objects hanging from trees, tied against other branches and poles. For someone like Fuzzy, it was the equivalent of a giant billboard that said “turn around and start running.”

  Santos spoke quietly into his throat mic. “Team One to Jimmy Leader, I have Fuzzy’s landmark in sight. Approximately one hundred yards across an open field at the opposite tree line. I would need to work around a few hundred yards to avoid crossing in the open. You want me to go? Over.”

  Cascaes told him to sit tight and went up the bank in front of him to see for himself. The rest of the team followed on their bellies. Mackey and Team Two continued to move to the right and eventually called back that they were two hundred yards to the right flank and could a
lso see the clearing. Cascaes looked across the rocky clearing at the same rotting skulls that Santos had seen. He passed the binoculars to his men so they would know who they were dealing with.

  “Okay, Santos,” said Cascaes, “move to your left and work your way over. Hodges, get your sniper rifle set up and cover him from your present position. Everyone else stay put and keep your eyes open.” Cascaes lay still on his belly with his binoculars, scanning the opposite tree line while trying to keep an eye on Santos.

  Chapter 32

  Warpath

  Kuka’s warriors moved quickly and silently through the jungle, almost at a run. Vega’s men struggled to keep up, huffing and puffing under the weight of their weapons and packs. Just when Vega’s men were ready to collapse, the Guaranis stopped moving. It was amazing the way they could stop moving, crouch slightly into the leaves, and almost disappear in an instant. One of the warriors trotted ahead, followed by twenty or so men with large bows over their shoulders. They carried extremely large arrows—small spears really, and hustled after their leader.

  The warriors moved quietly to the edge of a large rocky clearing and sat down, removing the large bows from their backs and placing them under their feet as they sat on their rear-ends. Holding the bows under their feet, they used both arms to pull back on the string and notch the giant arrow. In this manner, they could loose an arrow the size of a small spear and send it fifty yards with amazing accuracy. It was the same method they used for hunting birds, monkeys and anything else overhead. The single warrior that was the leader of this primitive platoon of archers belly-crawled silently towards the edge of the clearing. He couldn’t see soldiers yet, but every ounce of his being sensed enemies nearby.

  Behind the archers, the woods filled up with warriors, working their way loosely through the jungle towards the clearing. Vega’s six men, armed with AK-47s, also moved forward, keeping an eye on Kuka to make sure they didn’t get lost in the jungle.

  ****************************

  Santos worked his way around the fringe of the jungle, moving quietly through the large ferns. With his floppy hat and painted face, he was hard to spot, and Cascaes kept losing him from his position in the center of their group.

  It wasn’t a noise really—not a “sound” per se—but it was something. A subsonic buzz or hum, and then nothing for a second, and then almost a whistling noise. Santos froze and looked up. A cloud of spears was flying through the air in his direction, first flying almost straight up, and then descending upon his location in a tightening cloud. He was crawling on his belly when he saw them, and then the screaming in his earpiece began. “Look out!” Cascaes warned.

  Santos started rolling as fast as he could down a slight embankment, and as he rolled, he worked his body into position to spring up and start running. Hodges, who saw the arrows appear from nowhere, still didn’t have a target, but was screaming at Santos to run. Santos pushed off his hands and was ready to sprint when a spear landed in the back of his thigh and continued straight through into the ground, pinning him. Another dozen landed all around him, but miraculously didn’t hit him. He was screaming when the spear impaled him into the soft jungle floor.

  Smitty and McCoy began running around the edge of the jungle clearing to work their way over to their injured friend. They yelled to Cascaes that they were moving to help, and Cascaes yelled back to get him, but to stay out of the open. Mackey and his team didn’t see Santos go down, but heard the commotion over their earpieces and double-timed it to work their way around the clearing from the right flank, moving towards an enemy they still hadn’t seen yet. As they moved around to the right, Cascaes’ team in the center spread out along the edge of the embankment, well concealed, trying to get visual targets across the clearing.

  Theresa began running towards the left flank knowing that Santos was injured, and Moose called after her. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he screamed as he tried to catch up to her.

  “I’m a combat medic,” she hollered back, ignoring him as she ran.

  Cascaes heard them and yelled “Go!” to Moose, who ran with her through the woods. They were sprinting through thorny bushes, knocking over small trees as they ran, but ignored everything as they focused on getting towards Santos. Cascaes and his men had yet to return a shot, and the enemy was still unseen after the single flight of arrows.

  Moose and Theresa came running up behind Hodges, who was concentrating on finding a target across the clearing through his sniper scope, and they startled him. He heard their footsteps running towards him from behind and whipped his .45 out of its holster and spun around.

  “Don’t shoot!” yelled Theresa, who kept running right past him along the tree line. Moose was right behind her, his MP-5 looking tiny in his huge hands. Hodges cursed under his breath and rolled back over, again trying to see an enemy target through his scope. He didn’t have a spotter, which was the way he usually worked, and it was a handicap. Across the clearing, a painted face finally rose above the knee-high ferns. Hodges didn’t know it, but it was the group leader of the archers, trying to find another target. Hodges squeezed off a round and removed the top of his head. It was the first bullet of the day.

  Across the field, the Guaranis streamed through the woods towards their enemy. The crack of a rifle made them freeze only for a second—they squatted and disappeared into the ferns to reassess the threat.

  McCoy was the first to reach Santos, who was crying out in pain and trying in vein to pull the huge pole out of his thigh that was pinned to the ground.

  “Hang on, man!” said McCoy as he flopped on the ground between Santos and the unseen enemy. He ripped his pack off of his back and pulled out a first aid pack, tearing off a morphine syringe. “Just relax, man, I’m gonna’ get you out of here.”

  Smitty thundered past them, shooting in short bursts in the general direction of the enemy, trying to suppress unseen targets.

  “Pete! Hurry, man…oh God…oh God…” Santos was trying to be brave, but the pain was excruciating and he could feel his heart beat pounding in his thigh. McCoy popped the syringe into Santos’ shoulder and scanned the immediate area. He called back to Cascaes.

  “Team leader, this is McCoy. I have Santos and…” his voice trailed off and then he yelled, “Oh shit!” as another cloud of giant arrows was released in their direction. McCoy dove over Santos, snapping the pole that was through his leg and releasing him from the ground. Santos was screaming in agony. He grabbed Santos by his vest and heaved him off the ground and started running as the first spears began impacting around them. He ran and stumbled as Santos’s legs tangling with his, sending them both sprawling. Santos grunted as he hit the ground, but the morphine was starting to kick in and put him out. As Pete pulled Santos through the ferns by his jacket, Theresa and Moose came sprinting through the woods.

  “Hang on!” yelled Theresa as she ran towards them. Moose had his weapon at the ready, but still had no target. “Screw it!” he yelled, and began firing blindly in the direction the spears had come from. Across the clearing, his bullets quietly zipped through the plants and leaves, and the Guaranis squatted and disappeared again, untouched by the incoming rounds.

  Theresa rolled Santos on his back and checked his pulse. He was unconscious but alive. The bleeding wasn’t too bad because the large spear was still imbedded in the meaty part of his thigh.

  “McCoy—you alright?” yelled Moose.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he screamed back as he readied his weapon.

  “Okay, you grab Raul and get the hell out of here with Theresa. I’ll cover your withdrawal.

  McCoy immediately threw his weapon to Theresa and pulled Santos over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. They took off in the same direction from which they came and Moose began backing up a few yards at a time, making sure they wouldn’t be rushed. In the background, they could hear the occasional crack of Hodges’ sniper rif
le when he acquired a target.

  Mackey’s voice came in over the radio. “Jimmy leader, Team Two is preparing to assault!”

  “Roger that Team Two, but don’t get too far ahead of us. We can’t offer much fire support from here. We can’t see a damn thing. Ripper, Cohen and Jones, work your way around the right flank and come in behind Team Two. The rest of us will stay here for now and try and acquire targets while we wait for Santos.”

  Mackey and his four men had worked around the clearing and were now inching along through the ferns and underbrush. In front of them, the Guaranis were running towards the edge of the clearing, and working their way to their own right, evidently believing that Santos and the others were coming from that direction. Mackey and his men managed to keep working forward and to their own right until they were directly behind the Guaranis who were moving away from them.

  Mackey, Woods, Koches, Stewart, and O’Connor each took out a grenade and pulled the pin, then ran as fast as they could after the moving army of natives. They threw the grenades as far as they could and dropped to the ground, the five grenades exploding with deafening noise, sending hot shrapnel whizzing through the jungle in all directions. A dozen Guaranis flew through the air, while dozens more dove for cover and tried to figure out what had just happened. They still didn’t know that Mackey’s crew was behind them, and they cautiously continued moving forward, while Mackey and his men worked their way up quickly behind them.

  Mackey opened fire first, in short, silenced bursts. He was joined by his men, who were running, squatting and firing, then moving forward again. They had killed another dozen natives before the Guaranis even knew they were behind them. Once they realized the direction of the fire, the natives spread out and started working their way back towards Mackey’s location. In the distance, Mackey could hear Cascaes’ unit firing from across the open field.