MAMista (35 page)

THE FIRE-FIGHT IN THE JUNGLE
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‘Keep going,' said Singer.

‘Do you believe in life after death?' Singer asked. They'd stopped to make camp and were eating the one and only meal for that day. Singer had finished eating – he always finished first – and was rubbing his wrist. The bindings had been taken off but his wrist and ankle were still hurting him.

Paz was eating beans, dried fish and a banana-like fruit that one of the Indians had identified as edible. He didn't answer. It would probably turn out to be one of Singer's jokes.

Today had been strenuous. It was the third day of their climb up one of the gentler spurs of the Sierra Sombra. Three times they'd been forced to use ropes. Some of the sections of rock had been as tall as a three-storey house. One of the mules had suffered a broken harness. It had slipped and fallen down the sheer-sided cliff. This feast was the part of that mule's load that had broken free. Had the mule not dropped six hundred feet, and lodged in a crag, they would have been eating mule.

Neither did Lucas answer. He sat with Inez and could think of nothing but food and sleep.

‘I do,' Singer said. He was smoking a rolled-up piece of wild tobacco leaf that the Indians always were able to find.
‘I believe in it. I always have.' He spoke in an intense way, as if he were continuing a conversation they'd been having for a long time. In fact those who knew him well would have been amazed to hear him revealing anything about his private life. Singer had always been obsessionally secretive, even with his colleagues. ‘I've got a lovely wife and two kids, Peter and Nancy: seven and five. And a lovely home. What am I doing here, getting myself killed?'

‘And what's the answer?' Paz asked.

‘My wife thinks I work for an oil company,' Singer said. He pinched out his hand-rolled cheroot and then took a leaf from his pocket to wrap it before putting it into his pocket. They had all learned to use the vegetation like a never-ending supply of paper tissues. But here they were on a bald mountain slope. Singer looked up and breathed the night air. The sky was crammed with stars. It was good to see them again. In the jungle they went for days without a glimpse of the sky.

‘Where is Santos?' Singer asked.

‘Santos thinks this trail has been used recently,' Inez said.

‘He didn't tell me that,' said Paz.

‘I can speak his dialect,' Inez said.

‘This is a trail?' Singer said and laughed.

Inez said, ‘He noticed broken vegetation, disturbed earth. He took Novillo and went to look round.'

‘Could be wild pig,' Lucas said.

‘Santos said that,' Inez agreed.

‘If he really thought it was pig,' Singer said, ‘Santos wouldn't be missing supper.'

‘Men,' said Inez.

‘A good scout can follow any human trail,' said Paz.

‘You wouldn't need tracker dogs to follow us,' Lucas said. ‘Human excrement. Sweat and woodsmoke. Any fool could find us blindfolded. And you could drive a London double-decker bus through the trail we left on the last climb.'

‘Where did Santos go?' Singer asked.

‘He said he wanted to go back as far as the cliff edge,' Paz answered.

‘He's hoping to spot a fire or something,' said Inez.

‘Those men on the river,' Paz said. ‘I keep thinking about them.'

‘They were Ramón's men,' Singer said. They all turned their heads to see him better. ‘Ramón figures that I could be a time bomb for him. I sweet-talked him into a deal but once he had time to think about it he could see that the boys in Washington had him in a spot. And Maestro was always against any kind of deal. Getting rid of me would give him a chance to deny everything if he felt like it.'

‘I too think they were Ramón's men,' Inez admitted.

‘They sure weren't locals,' Singer said and yawned. ‘Listen to that wind. We chose a good spot here.'

There wasn't much more said as the men dozed off to sleep. Apart from the howl of the wind the encampment was quiet when Santos arrived back about two hours later. He moved quietly and awakened Paz. ‘We saw three fires,' he said.

Paz was only half asleep. He could see that Santos was dirty and exhausted. He'd been along the trail and climbed down to the place where he could see back along the valley. It had been a rough journey.

Inez nudged Lucas and he awakened without a sound.

‘You are sure?' Paz asked.

‘Ten miles south,' Santos said. ‘I have left Novillo there to keep watch.'

‘Behind us?' said Paz. That was a surprise. The marks on the trail indicated a group of men travelling ahead of them. ‘Two parties?'

‘Yes,' said Santos. ‘Two parties.'

Paz said. ‘I'll go back there now. We must get a compass bearing.'

‘You don't need a compass bearing,' Lucas said. ‘They will come up our route, it's the easiest climb. Ten miles,
you say, Santos. They're probably camped at that place where we came up the outcrop, near the waterfall. You wouldn't want to try that climb in the failing light. Drinking water and a shelter under the rock face. It would make a decent camp.'

‘Three fires?'

Singer was awake now. He supplied the answer: ‘A sentry along the river in back of them. A few men on the ledge to be sure we didn't come back and clobber them during the night. Three fires.'

Paz said, ‘We're on the edge of Pekinista territory.'

Inez said, ‘It's marked like that on the map. In fact they don't usually move this far outside the coca and coffee.'

‘And how near is that?'

‘The other side of this range,' Inez said. ‘As the crow flies fifty miles, but it's a hundred and fifty miles or more on foot.'

‘You must go back and clobber them,' said Singer. ‘It's your only chance.'

‘What with?' Lucas said. ‘These men are exhausted and hungry.'

Paz turned to Singer and asked, ‘If you were in charge of that party behind us what would you do?'

Singer rubbed his face with his big black hand as he thought about it. ‘I'd be in no hurry. I wouldn't want to get into a firefight up here and then have to climb back down with my casualties.' He took the cheroot from his pocket and lit it. No one spoke. Singer finally said, ‘They are probably not there to attack. They probably have a radio and are helping to put another team into place. That's how it's done.'

‘Setting us up for an ambush?' said Paz. ‘So where will it come?'

Singer said, ‘They will want a place with good communications so they can withdraw easily.'

‘A river,' said Inez. ‘There is no other way.'

‘Two rivers would be even better,' Singer said. ‘Two rivers, with a mountain trail that joins them. The security element covers the approach to the killing-ground, prepares the route of withdrawal and guards the rallying point.' They were all wide awake now. Singer had described this place.

Lucas said, ‘And the security element is behind us?'

‘Yes,' Singer said. ‘Which means there is an assault element somewhere up ahead.'

Lucas said, ‘And the commander will be with the assault element up ahead?'

‘That's maybe who came this way. Just a small team to make contact. A bigger party would have left more traces.'

There was another long pause.

‘How could they set up an ambush?' asked Inez. ‘They don't know which route we will take.'

‘Come along, girlie,' said Singer. ‘You know better than that. How many ways are there? We can't climb the summit of this heap without spikes, pegs and snaplinks. And I don't feature sliding ass-first down that sheer drop. No, there is only one way down.'

‘But we don't have to use the most convenient one,' Inez persisted.

‘No, we don't,' Singer agreed. ‘But we'd be sitting ducks if we came under fire on a tough gradient.'

Paz said, ‘Are you sure there is another party ahead?'

Singer said, ‘Everything points to it.' He looked to Lucas. Lucas nodded in agreement.

‘In the British or American armies …' said Inez.

‘In any kind of army,' Singer said. ‘Since Philip of Macedon.'

‘Can we guess where they will attack us?' Paz asked Singer.

‘Ask Lucas,' Singer said. ‘He will quote the book to you.'

Lucas said, ‘A mountain is what they call a terrain obstacle. In fact it's the ideal one. If we choose one of those
steep valleys for the final section of our descent we'd be in a high walled box: perfect! And if the trail doesn't lead into a box, they can make a box using embankments, a stream or bamboo stockades. For added refinements they could also use mantraps and wired grenades and mines. It depends how fancy you get. The usual method of getting us into the killing ground would be by making us run for cover. We certainly must keep a very alert team up-front tomorrow. And we must make sure there is no bunching-up.'

‘So what were the guys in the boats after? Were they waiting for us? Were they working with the Pekinistas?' Paz asked. No one replied. ‘Get some sleep, Santos,' he said. ‘I'll go back and take a look.'

Lucas said, ‘Don't let's get too complicated. All we know for sure is that there are three fires. It could be hunters. Could be fires started by the sun.'

‘More of those guys who go hunting with machine guns?' Paz said.

‘Lucas is right,' Singer told him. ‘We're just guessing. Anyway we have an edge on them. We know they are there; but they don't know we know.'

‘If it's Pekinistas trying to kidnap you and claim the ransom they'll be careful how they attack,' said Inez.

‘But we don't have to be cautious,' said Paz. ‘Right. Good.'

‘Someone must go back along the trail in the morning,' Lucas said in that pedantic way he had. ‘Now let's get some sleep.'

 

Next morning they were still desperately tired. The wind had buffeted their campsite all night. It howled and stirred up the dirt and made them shiver with cold so that most of them had had little sleep. But now the wind had dropped and there was an uncanny silence. They had come back along the trail to this high ledge. From here they could see all the way to the river they had crossed so long ago. Above
it now hung a curving white overpass of mist that spilled into the treetops of the jungle on each side.

The eastern horizon was purple. Above it layers of cloud were rimmed with wire-thin orange edges. The wires thickened and turned yellow as the sun chewed at the horizon. The first molten blob of sunlight turned the landscape milky. Its rays poked at the hills and transformed misty valleys into glaring white lakes.

‘We'll never see them in this,' said Inez, but even as she spoke she was proved wrong. Hundreds of birds suddenly climbed up through the white mist. They circled for a minute or two and then sank down into the white fluff.

‘Get the bearing?' Singer asked.

‘I got it,' said Paz, no longer taking offence at Singer's patronizing tone.

Some other noise or movement – undetected from above – disturbed the birds again. They seemed uncomfortably close.

‘Just as I told you,' Lucas said with exasperating satisfaction that he did nothing to modify. ‘The first climb. Near the stream.'

Angel Paz turned away. ‘We'd better move it.' From now on, his whole attention must be devoted to the route north. The going was easy at first over this treeless plateau. They were all revisited by the euphoria they had known on that first day. Seen from here the steamy jungle looked almost attractive. As they went Paz took bearings, and had Singer check them. Such bearings might prove useful in the days ahead if they caught glimpses of these mountains from the jungle below. From up here it all looked easy. They were like generals looking at a trench map and marking the places where other men would fight and die.

The next mountain range – the Serpents – was about thirty miles north. It looked no more than a day or two away, even allowing for the hidden river that they knew must pass through the shallow basin ahead. But the first
task would be to descend one of the rocky and precipitous spurs of the range they were on. The choice might prove fatal, and there would be no question of changing the route once committed to it. Even the gentlest of slopes would make difficulties for the mule drivers and for some of the men who were no longer truly fit.

‘Okay? Okay?' called Angel Paz. It was a significant change from the hand signals and even from the ‘Let's go' that had replaced them. Now he spent as much time as Lucas watching for the accident before it happened, and worrying about the infirm and cursing the mules.

The thinner vegetation of the higher slopes offered no shade. The hot sun burned into them. There were rhododendrons here and blue and white rock plants as well as wild coffee seeded by the wind from plantations more than fifty miles away on the far side of the peaks.

Soon after they began to descend they encountered the dampness of the jungle and the bamboo. The men had learned to dread the first signs of the long slim leaves amongst the ferns and undergrowth. Without waiting for orders, Nameo and the ex-plantation workers unsheathed their jungle knives and moved up to the point position.

Bamboo grows like a weed. It grows so fast that a patient botanist can watch the movement of its growth without a microscope, or without benefit of time-lapse photos. Each plant was strong and grew so close to its neighbour that not even small jungle animals could squeeze between the canes. The tubular stalks were hard and resilient, like some very tough plastic, so that the knife blades slipped and bounced upon the smooth bark. Patiently the men hacked a path through it. They were replaced every twenty minutes.

It was not only the men at point who suffered in the bamboo. Ancient stalks made the ground as treacherous as glass marbles. On the steep slope, hands groped at the bamboo on either side and were gashed upon its leaves. Carlos, who was carrying the rifles of two comrades, slipped
down a steep bank. Four men spent a strenuous half-hour getting him back to safety. Soon there were very few members of the party without some kind of injury, if only a nasty bruise.