Shadow of the Osprey (43 page)

‘S
ims,’ Mort said as he watched the tiny figures disappear behind the rise, ‘get the men together and follow me.’ Sims, who stood a short distance away leaning on his rifle, turned and bellowed his orders in English. Although the first mate’s orders were in a foreign language his belligerent tone translated into Chinese. Somewhat reluctantly, the Chinese looked to Captain Woo who snarled at his men to follow the white devil.

Grass burned to a fine powder swirled in the eddies of the valley’s breezes around the pursuers as they trudged across the valley towards the saddle. Weapons were primed and senses alert as they filed past Henry’s body. Mort spat contemptuously at the dead man. James was dead and O’Flynn was next!

Hawks and kites gathered in a swirling brown-feathered cloud to circle and swoop on the unexpected feast that the fire had left in its wake, while Mort and his men struggled up to the crest of the saddle. Despite his assurances that the survivors they hunted had fled from the high ground, they approached the summit warily. But without a shot being fired at them as they advanced up the scope they relaxed on the crest to gaze down the open landscape of the other side.

Sims saw the blood spattered on the rocks and a fragment of blood-stained shirt. Mort looked pleased when the grinning first mate held up the bloody scrap of cloth. The survivors had not come out unscathed from the ambush, he mused. And maybe their injuries would slow them down even more! With any luck their injuries might even prove fatal, but hopefully O’Flynn would be alive when they caught up with him. The man had troubled him in the same way that his nightmares did, and to hear the Irish bastard scream for mercy would exorcise the ghosts that haunted his sleeping hours. With a wave of his arm, Mort signalled to his men to descend, following the blood trail into the rainforest below.

The hunters were less cautious as they trailed down the slope. It seemed obvious that the party they hunted were in full, panicked flight. They were halfway down when their complacency was shattered by the explosive crack of a Snider rifle. Before the sound had time to roll away as an echo in the midday heat haze, one of the European crew men grunted, and fell with a bullet through his chest.

The pursuers momentarily froze in terror before scattering to seek the meagre cover of rocks up on the saddle. A second well-aimed shot took Sims in the stomach before he could retreat. He dropped his rifle to clutch at his belly and with confused, terror-filled eyes stared at Mort standing on the slope. Mort swore viciously as he flung himself behind the rise. The sniper’s ruse of ambushing had caught him like an amateur!

Michael flipped the breech of the Snider and slipped a cartridge in the chamber. With the systematic removal of Mort’s former European crew members, the final fight was brought down to just the two of them. He did not consider the Chinese pirates to be an immediate threat; as he had noticed that they responded with surly reluctance to the murderous captain’s directions when he had issued his orders. And the systematic killing of the two Europeans would demoralise them, he calculated.

He slithered from his cover behind an earth bank at the edge of the rise content in the knowledge that his ambush was buying precious time for the three survivors. It was not his intention to be located, pinned down and outflanked, and he already had selected a second position from which to fire on the pursuers. He tucked the rifle into his shoulder and searched for another target.

Mort lay on his stomach on the rise and was mystified as to why the unidentified sniper had not shot him when he had the opportunity. It was as if the unseen man was taunting him, he thought, and killing the first mate who had stood beside him a contemptuous gesture that his life was the unknown sniper’s personal property.

The thought caused Mort to shudder with superstitious fear, but he did not let his fear cripple his thinking. His fertile mind was already planning to out-manoeuvre the sniper. He would send half the Chinese under the command of the pirate captain to bypass the sniper and go after the rest of the survivors, while he and the remainder kept the sniper busy pinned down on the slope.

He called for the pirate captain who crawled up to where Mort lay peering cautiously over the edge of the crest and quickly issued his orders to him. Woo understood the tactics and slithered down the reverse slope to pick six of his best men who now had the task of cutting off the fleeing survivors. Woo preferred this task to remaining on the hill; the tangle of the thick rainforest would provide cover.

When the pirate captain was gone Mort took careful aim and casually shot Sims through the head. The first mate had tried to plead for his life, but fell silent when he realised that there was no pity in Mort’s cold eyes. The Chinese on the summit stared sullenly at the white devil and pondered if following him could be any worse than returning to the tong and confessing the loss of the girl.

~

Michael had a fleeting glimpse as the pirate captain and his team plunged into the jungle. They were fifty yards out and only exposed for a second. He snapped off a shot and was rewarded with one of the Chinese pitching forward with a short, strangled scream of despair.

His shot was answered with a volley of musket fire from the ridge above him. He swore as dirt spattered his face from one of the musket balls that had ricocheted away across the slope. Mort had out-guessed him, he thought bitterly, and was now attempting to pin him down. If nothing else, he consoled himself, he had forced his adversary to split his forces giving Luke and John a better chance in any armed confrontation in the rainforest.

He rolled away and reloaded the Snider. He had not seen Mort with the Chinese who had disappeared into the rainforest, and guessed he was still amongst the scattered rocks of the saddle with the remainder of his men. He could not expose himself for a second as the shots had come from positions closer than when he had first fired on Mort’s party. In addition, he was now effectively pinned down until the night came to provide him concealment. By that time, either John and Luke would have escaped Mort’s men or they would be dead and the girl once again Mort’s prisoner.

Michael lay under the hot sun waiting for Mort to make his next move. At least he had a near-full water canteen and starvation was not going to be a problem, he thought with bitter irony. Before he had any chance of starving to death, he would be long dead from a bullet.

Mort had a fleeting glimpse of the man who had fired on the pirate captain’s party. So it was Michael O’Flynn they were up against! He turned and indicated to the remaining Chinese that they were to recover the discarded Winchesters lying beside the dead Europeans on the forward slope.

The Chinese slithered forward to retrieve the rifles and gather ammunition from the pockets of the dead men. No shot challenged them, and they dragged the rifles back up the slope where they quickly figured out the weapons’ mechanisms.

Michael’s sniping battle could be heard from the river. It drifted on the air as a faint popping sound and seemed distant and unreal to Hue. She had asked John why the big barbarian with the eye patch had not come with them and he briefly explained the plan they had formulated back on the saddle. Hue wondered why the man should sacrifice himself for her. For whatever reason he had stayed behind, she knew she would never forget his sacrifice.

The river flowed between the thick tangle of rainforest with a strong steady current. Luke calculated that it was about twenty yards wide. They had been unfortunate to have stumbled on a particularly wide stretch of the stream. But they did not have the luxury of time to search for a narrower stretch, and he sought timber that they could use in their crossing. All he could find were fallen pieces of timber long decayed to an earth-like consistency.

Both men conferred and decided to dump their guns. They would keep only their knives as the weight of the guns could easily drag them down when they swam the river. The only consolation of leaving their guns behind was that Mort’s men too would be seriously hampered by attempting to cross the fast-flowing river with their weapons.

Hue could not swim and shrank from the dreaded thought of having to plunge into the murky waters. The two men, however, were both strong swimmers and John promised the frightened girl that he would get her safely across.

She trusted him and tentatively waded into the river. The water demons snatched at her legs and she clung desperately to John’s neck. He was forced to gently prise her vice-like grip from around his neck and he calmly explained to her how they would swim across. He would swim side-stroke and tow her with one arm. But she must remain calm and not resist him. If she did not panic she would not be a burden.

John kicked out strongly with the terrified girl in tow. The powerful flow of the river immediately swirled them downstream. Slowly but strongly he swam towards the middle while behind him Luke fought the swirling current with all his strength. They were halfway across when the shots and shouts erupted in the jungle behind them.

Luke had a sick feeling of despair. Caught in the water they could be easily picked off by marksmen on the shore. They were still a long way from the opposite bank which beckoned with a promise of safety and the shouting and musket fire from the jungle spurred him on.

Then the noise of terrified men fighting for their lives confused them. Within a very short time, however, the desperate shouting ceased. By then they had reached the far river bank and scrambled ashore, waterlogged but alive.

The brief skirmish was still a mystery. They knew it could not have been Michael Duffy who they had last heard firing his Snider half a mile or so away. He could not have reached the river in such a short space of time. But both John and Hue had recognised that the terrified voices were shouting in Chinese. Although neither could understand the other strange yells that blurred with the panicked Chinese voices, Luke could.

They were the war cries of the fierce Merkin warriors. From what he could discern, they had caught the Chinese unawares. The tribesmen must have always been close by, he thought with a shudder. But why had they not attempted to strike at them when they had reached the river?

Both Michael and Mort had also heard the distant sounds of the skirmish and the ominous sound of an armed clash caused Michael’s hopes to sink. Had the Chinese reached the three before they could cross the river and killed them?

On the saddle above Mort smiled grimly. The distant sounds could only mean one thing: that Woo had been successful. He expected to see the pirate captain return with the girl before sunset. O’Flynn was now isolated from all immediate help, he thought with savage satisfaction, and it would only be a matter of deciding whether to leave him to his fate, or risk the lives of a few of the Chinks to finish him off.

It was a decision that could wait for the moment. There was still a chance that the Chinese he had deployed on the slope might get into a position to flush O’Flynn out before nightfall, when the damned Irishman could escape under cover of darkness. He glanced at the sun hovering low over a mountainous horizon and knew that the night’s cloaking darkness was only a few brief hours away.

Running, stumbling and beating their way through the dense undergrowth, Luke, John and Hue put as much distance between themselves and the river as they could. Finally Luke gave the order to rest, and they slumped to the ground where the fecund scent of the forest floor rose up to tell them that they were still alive.

‘Hear anything?’ Luke gasped. John shook his head, too exhausted to provide a verbal reply. ‘I think we are safe,’ Luke added, with the semblance of a weak and tortured grin. ‘I think whoever was after us has met with foul play back at the river.’

‘Sounded like myalls,’ John finally said as he lay back against the roots of a forest giant. ‘Think they got the better of my relatives.’

‘Think yer right,’ Luke said, plucking at a thin leech preparing to attach itself to his arm. ‘So I don’t think it’s wise to hang around here too long.’

John nodded and glanced at Hue who sat with her eyes closed and her head back. The decaying forest floor litter had stuck to the bloody soles of her feet like a pair of Chinese slippers, and the exquisite paleness of her skin was accentuated by the mottled shadows. He felt a surge of pride for her courage. In the gut-wrenching retreat from the river crossing she had kept up without complaint, despite the obvious pain her badly cut feet had caused her. She turned her head in John’s direction and her obsidian eyes gazed directly into his. No, it was more than pride he felt. It was love. The enigmatic young woman was the most beautiful creature ever created on earth. Or in heaven for that matter. ‘Do you think you can go just a little further?’ he asked her.

‘I can with you beside me John Wong,’ she replied softly and John felt the wave of emotion crash down around him, pummelling him with its violence. The woman fully trusted him, he thought bitterly.

Hue saw the agony in his expression as he glanced away and wondered at its meaning. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

John shook his head savagely and lurched from the ground. ‘Nothing is wrong,’ he said. ‘We have to get going.’

Puzzled at the sudden change in his expression, she took his outstretched hand as he roughly helped her to her feet. Then he turned his back on her and stepped out as if attempting to leave her behind. Hue followed. How was it that he could be so gentle one moment and then so cruel the next? She whimpered like a kitten when a sharp stick bit into her feet and John heard her pain, slowing his pace. He dared not turn to face her lest she see the agony in his face. She trusted him and he loved her. Yet he was leading her to certain death, on the strength of a blood oath more binding than the love a man could feel for a woman. Loyalty to the tong was not something he expected her to understand.

As he strode through the forest he tried to walk away from his torment. But she grimly hobbled behind him like a child frightened of being left alone. He knew his duty and Soo Yin would get his prize. But soon the night would fall, and he would be alone in his thoughts of who he was in his confused world, a world somewhere between Asia and Europe. John was hardly aware of the bitter, salty tears streaming down his face.