Operation: Congo

- 8 -

Hynd, Davies, and Wilkins only had time to get the rescued WHO team away from the wall and under the canopy before two raptors—smaller than the first but not by all that much—came into the clearing from opposite sides. They made directly for the corpse that lay steaming in the cool night air. The men on the wall high above barked and roared as the pair of beasts bent to feed and the air filled with the sound of tearing flesh and the copper odor of fresh blood. Hynd motioned to the others to retreat further back into the foliage.

“Those spears up on the wall have got us covered. We’re not getting out that way.”

They retreated into the dark until they could barely see their own faces, the slightest of red flickers from the torches up on the wall the only illumination.

“Who’s in charge here?” a woman’s voice said, too loud at his back. Hynd knew the tone well—somebody was used to command and not used to being denied. Out in the clearing, one of the raptors looked up from its feeding and cocked its head to one side, listening. Hynd did what he had to do and nipped things in the bud fast.

“I’m in charge,” he whispered, letting his anger show in his tone. “And don’t you forget it. Now shut the fuck up if you want to live past the next few minutes.”

He couldn’t see the speaker but heard a sharp intake of breath clearly enough. No answering retort came out of the dark and the raptor, after a hard glare in their direction, went back to feeding.

“Slowly now,” Hynd said in a whisper that was more of a sibilant hiss. “Back up as far as you can. Mind your footing. Twenty yards at least, then we’ll see what’s what. Davies, take point; I’ve got your back.”

As they moved through the undergrowth, Hynd realized that there had been no more gunfire from the other side of the wall. All he heard was a distant barking and roaring, almost cheering, but even that seemed to be fading into the distance.

John and Wiggo have got problems of their own. We can’t count on help any time soon.

Seconds later, he walked into Wilkins’ back and found the small group of rescued WHO people gathered in a natural clearing in a circle of dense foliage. Davies had lit his rifle light and was using it to check the perimeter. Hynd switch on his own light and keeping the beam wide and soft panned it around the pale, wide-eyed faces of those they’d just rescued.

“Who speaks for you?” he whispered.

A woman’s voice—the same one from earlier—answered. He aimed the light that way and looked into the eyes of a thin, stern-gazed woman. She was as tall as Hynd and carried herself upright, although her eyes and the lines at the corner of her mouth told of far too much recent pain.

“I’m Doctor Henderson. If anyone’s in charge now, I suppose it’s me.”

“Do you know a way out of here?” Hynd asked and got a bitter laugh in reply.

“Out? I don’t even know how we got in. I thought you were the cavalry?”

“In normal circumstances, yes, but not tonight. First things first. Is anybody hurt?”

“We’re all just hungry, tired, and scared shitless.”

“Apart from that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?” Hynd said. He had no idea why he’d said it but it felt natural, and it actually got him a tired smile in reply.

“Don’t think we’re not grateful,” the woman said. “It’s just been a long couple of days.”

“I can understand. Just follow our lead. We’ll get you all home.”

Davies and Wilkins distributed some dry biscuits and water. The group took to it as if it was caviar and champagne.

“Davies is carrying a wee stove and some hot rations too,” Hynd added. “But that’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere a bit more secure. Everybody ready to move?”

The woman doctor checked her people then nodded to Hynd.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re on the wrong side of yon bloody gate,” he replied. “Let’s see what we can do to rectify that. We’ll head west for a bit and look for a way up onto the rim of the crater. They obviously built the gate to keep the beasties in. But beasties like us can climb better than yon raptors. Let’s go and see.”

They moved out, Davies once again taking point, Wilkins with the group of the rescued, and Hynd bringing up the rear.

With every step, Hynd expected either a spear in the back or the rush of a slavering beast out of the dark but neither came. They walked in what was now almost complete silence, heading west along an animal track punctuated with occasional piles of what looked like deer droppings. Two of the rescued medical team had to be helped by their friends, each of them taking turns supporting the extra weight, but everyone stayed upright. They made good progress for ten minutes before coming to a halt before what appeared to be a sheer rock face.

“I think I can see a way up, Sarge,” Wilkins said after they’d all had a look up into the dark.

“What, ten minutes in the jungle and now you’re bloody Tarzan?”

“No, really,” the young private said. “I’ve done a bit of rock climbing back home. I know what I’m about.”

“And that gammy leg of yours? Does it ken what it’s about too?”

“The leg will hold up,” Wilkins said. “I can do this. I can get us up there.”

“I’ve done some climbing too,” a slightly accented voice said at their back. They turned to see a man, pale eyes in a heavy tan, thick black hair, and teeth that looked too white in the light from the gun sight.

“It’ll be good to have somebody have my back,” Wilkins said, and Hynd saw that the last few months of the lad’s life had come down to this. He’d struggled hard with the bad leg after the Norwegian caper; he was due a chance.

A barking roar from somewhere to the east made Hynd’s mind up for him. Standing around here was only going to get them eaten.

“All right, lad, off you go. But remember, the rest of us are not experts. If you’re to find us a way up, it’s got to be one we can all take. We all go, or no one goes.”

Wilkins gave him a mock salute and with the black-haired man right behind him following in his hand and footholds, he began to head up the rock. After less than a minute, Wilkins called down.

“It gets easy just a little way up. There’s a beaten track along a ledge going away to the west. We should be able to follow it up. Start sending people along after us… the doc here will call out the hand and footholds and I’ll have a reccy higher up.”

Anything’s better than just standing here.

“Davies, you start getting folks up the wall. I’ll watch our backs. If I start shooting, try to cover me—I’ll be hotfooting it to the wall.”

The woman doctor took charge of organizing her people, coordinating with the doctor above in getting them all up to where the doc stood on a ledge some twelve feet up. Within minutes, there was only her, Davies, and Hynd himself left on the ground. It was too early to be congratulating themselves; the barking roars were once again echoing around them, closer now than before.

“You next, ma’am,” Hynd said, and that got him another thin smile.

“Call me that again and I’ll have to hit you,” she replied.

“Hey, it’s not as if we’re engaged or anything,” he said, again wondering what caused him to suddenly be so flippant. Whatever it was, it got him a full-on grin this time.

“The name’s Debs, not Ellen,” she said, turning away. “And I can look after myself.”

Now Davies was grinning too.

“What are you so bloody happy about?” Hynd said.

“Don’t mind me, Sarge,” Davies replied. “I just want to get out of this chickenshit outfit.”

Seconds later, Hynd stood with his back to the wall while Davies reached for the first handhold overhead. He looked up to see the woman doctor going up as if born to it, already reaching for the hand of her companion on the ledge. Seeing she was safe, he turned his attention back to the jungle and the dark shadows under the canopy. Now was when he was at his most exposed and he knew that if the beasts had any intelligence about them at all, they’d know it too. A glance upward again showed him that Wilkins was nowhere to be seen—he’d get no cover from that front. And with Davies still climbing, it would be folly for Hynd to leave his position and turn his back on the forest.

Despite every fiber of his being telling him to flee, he stood his ground, not looking back or up, gauging Davies’ progress by the small sounds of scuffing feet and mumbled curses.

“Any time you’re ready, son,” Hynd whispered as a barking roar echoed around them; it had sounded like it had come from right next to his ear. He raised his rifle and swung the light around under the overhanging branches.

The glare caught a pair of glittering eyes looking directly at him, eyes that were some seven feet off the ground and several inches apart. A raptor stood there, silent and watching in the dark.

“Sarge?” he heard Davies say above him.

“Aye, I see it, lad,” Hynd replied. “Have you got my back?”

“I’ve got a bead on it right now. Should I take the shot?”

“No. We ken there’s more than one of these buggers about. They might be pulling our tadgers. I’m going to turn to the wall now though so if it moves, blow the fucker away.”

“Best get your arse in gear then, Sarge. If that thing gets up a head of steam, I’m not sure I’ve got the firepower to stop it.”

Hynd’s back felt too exposed as he turned, expecting the sound of rustling foliage and tramping feet that would be the last thing he’d ever hear. He had to force himself to reach for the first handhold.

“Talk to me, lad,” he said as he pulled himself up, his left foot trying to find purchase where his hand had just been… and failing, leaving him dangling, weight on one hand.

“Left… no, your other left, six inches and you’ll get your toehold.”

“Is yon beastie still watching me?”

“Aye. Still there, and not moving.”

He finally found the toehold, let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and began to reach for the next handhold but wasn’t given time to reach it.

“Fuck,” Davies said clearly as a barking roar split the air. A second later, Hynd was deafened as Davies fired three rounds only a couple of yards above his head.

There was no thought in Hynd’s next action. He let go of his handhold, pushed away from the wall, and was turning as he fell, already reaching for his weapon. He hit the ground solidly, flexing his knees to keep his balance, swung up his weapon, and for the first time looked up. The raptor was only yards away and coming on like a train. Blood showed at its chest where Davies’ shots had hit their mark but they hadn’t held enough power to slow the steamroller. The beast’s jaws opened, slavering bloody saliva as if already anticipating a meal. Hynd stood his ground, put two shots down its throat, then leapt to one side as the raptor hit the wall where he’d just been standing. He was able to take two steps aside. As the beast, already dying but still game for more, turned its gaze on him, he put two more shots into its left eye.

“Are there any more of these fuckers?” he said to Davies where the young private was looking down at him.

“Naw. I think they’re feart of the new king of the jungle,” Davies said with a grin.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Hynd replied. “Even Tarzan needs a hand sometimes. Tell me where the fucking handholds are. I need to get the hell out of this hole.”

In the end, the climb went simply. The jungle stayed quiet and a minute later, Hynd was up on the ledge with Davies and the others looking down at the dead body of the raptor.

“These boogers are supposed to be extinct,” the black-haired doctor said on the far side of Davies. Hynd laughed grimly.

“I don’t think they give a fuck. Now, where’s that wee bugger Wilko? Has he found us a way off this cliff yet?”

Wilkins’ pale face showed in the gloom some five yards away up a narrow track.

“It gets steeper again higher up, Sarge,” the private said. “But I’ve found us a defensible spot. There’s a cave up there big enough for us all to hunker down for the night in. It’s not safe to try climbing higher in the dark.”

“Aye, I agree. And a cave, you say? Luxury. Lay on, MacDuff. Led us to it.”

Another roar bellowed from the jungle below and a second raptor arrived in the small clearing below them at a rush, its gaze fixed on the carcass at the foot of the cliff. As it closed, its head was well below Hynd’s feet. It didn’t look like a climber but he kept his rifle sighted on it until he was more than sure that the beast was intent on the easy meal provided by the one he had killed. Only when he was convinced it had no interest in them did he turn and follow as Wilkins lead the small party higher up the slope.