Manus Xingue (22 page)

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 decision 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.

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.