Operation: Amazon

- 17 -

Banks and Hynd took the last watch two hours before dawn. The sergeant went straight to the choppers for a closer look at them.

“They’re old, but the Ruskies built these things to last. They’ll get a job done,” he said, looking at the mounted ordnance. “Half-inch Yak-B Gatling guns, carrying maybe 1500 rounds of ammo per gun. These rockets under the wings are 9K114 Shturm mounts, two-pound warheads, six missiles in each wing.”

“Enough for a big bang then?” Banks said.

“Aye. We’ve enough between these two beasts for a lot of big bangs. These are normally anti-tank missiles. We’ve got enough to blow the top off yon temple and level the causeway back to base rock.”

“I don’t think that’s what the colonel had in mind when he told us to secure the site,” Banks replied with a grin. “But it’ll be nice to have the option available if we need it.”

They made a tour of the perimeter of the facility while smoking another cigarette each. The banks of the river on either side were dark lines of deeper shadow, and the river itself shone and shimmered under the blanket of stars with only wispy clouds passing quickly over to obscure the view.

“Do you think the wanker was right, Cap?” Hynd asked as they approached the docking deck on their return. “About us having got most of them already?”

Banks shrugged.

“Who knows?” he said. “I only saw about 20 or so myself, like he says. But that doesn’t mean there’s not more of the fuckers. And we know fuck all about these things. We don’t know where they come from, whether they breed or not, or how big they get. Let’s not have any assumptions in mind going in.”

“Maybe they were all like Giraldo? Maybe you only get it by getting bit?”

“Maybe aye, maybe naw,” Banks replied. “All we know is that they can be put down fast with a bullet or two. So as long as we’re tooled up, and don’t lose our rifles again, we can get the job done. Don’t over think it, Sarge. I have a cunning plan. We get in, secure the site, and don’t get dead.”

Dawn came between the acts of them lighting another cigarette each and finishing it, a soft orange glow in the eastern sky that ate the night in a matter of minutes. On cue, biting insects started to swarm across the rippling surface of the river, and the day immediately warmed, a hot kiss full of promises of later fire.

Banks flicked his butt away and watched until the current took it away out of sight downstream.

“Time to go to work. Fetch the others, Sarge. Let’s get this day started.”

Within a few minutes, the squad were all out on the deck and ready to load the choppers with what little gear they had left.

“Who is traveling with who?” the Brazilian captain asked.

“Buller, you’re in the second chopper,” Banks said. “You’ll hold off with them away from the main site until we get it secured. The rest of us will load up with the captain here and go in first.”

“Nope, no way,” Buller said. “This is my find. I’ll be with you when you secure it. Remember, I’m in charge of this operation.”

“We’ve had this discussion already,” Banks said.

“And I gave in then. But not this time. There’s no danger, I’m telling you. They’re all fucking dead already.”

“I’m all out of fucks to give for what you think,” Banks replied. “So come with us, if that’s what you want. But I’m not responsible if you screw up, agreed?”

He saw doubt in the other man’s eyes, but the greed overrode it.

“Agreed,” Buller said.

Banks played his high card.

“Okay then. Wiggo, you’re on babysitting duty for the duration. Shoot him if he does anything that might jeopardize the rest of us. That’s an order.”

Wiggins’ wide grin more than made up for Buller’s surly demeanor as they loaded up into the first of the choppers.

After lift-off, the noise from the rotors precluded any conversation in the cabin. Wiggins sat opposite Buller, saying nothing, but grinning while staring straight at the man, which only made Buller squirm all the more.

“Suit up, lads,” Banks shouted, and opened the kit bags.

Each man wore a light camouflage suit, to which they each added a helmet with an attached pair of night vision goggles. They all wore thin but sturdy waterproof boots and a lightweight flak jacket with pouches filled with spare magazines for their weapons.

And this time we won’t be giving them away. No matter what comes at us.

Buller was the odd man out, wearing a thin shirt, canvas trousers, and sneakers on his feet. Banks found a flak jacket stowed under a seat and had Buller put it on. He still wished he could leave the man behind; having a civilian along complicated matters.

But I got an order. I’ll follow it. I’m a soldier — it’s what I do.

He went up front and motioned that he wanted to talk. The captain passed him a headset so they could communicate privately. He had to take off his own helmet to wear it, but after a test could hear the captain clearly.

“If you have to hover, how long can you stay?” he asked.

“An hour, Captain, no more than that. But you said the area has an open roadway of paved stone? Landing should not be a problem.”

“It’s the taking off again that has me worried,” Banks replied, but didn’t elaborate. His attention was drawn to the view out of the main window to the front of the pilots. The jungle, a carpet of infinite shades and hues of green, lay across from horizon to horizon with the river winding through it, a great shining snake leisurely going about its business with no concern for the world of men. The only thing breaking above the flat expanse of greenery was a series of rocky outcrops on the far horizon, getting closer so fast that Banks could already make out the pyramid that market the highest point.

“Five minutes,” the Brazilian captain said.

The two choppers circled the temple complex 100 feet above the top of the pyramid. There was no sign any life, no sign of any movement at all. They did two passes to be sure, then the chopper captain had his second craft move to an outcrop a mile away to the north that was big enough for a landing. He turned to Banks and pointed to the widest part of the causeway that ran along the ridge of the hill.

“I will set down there,” he said. “And I will only take off if we come under sustained attack. We will wait for your return there. We have got your back, Captain.”

Banks gave him a thumbs-up, handed back the headset, and went back to his seat for the landing.

It went smoothly and without a hitch. A minute later, the chopper was on the ground, and the squad was getting out of the vessel. The captain passed Banks the same headset they’d used earlier. After a few seconds, he figured out how he could clip the piece to his ear so that he could wear both headset and helmet. Once he was happy that any sudden movement wouldn’t lead to the loss of either, the pilot spoke at his ear.

“This is good for 100 meters line of sight,” he said. “It will not work well in a building or through rock, but we will be here and ready to come to your aid if you call for it.”

Banks gave him another thumbs up, and jumped to the ground, running out from under the rotors to join the squad on the causeway.

The whump of the rotors slowed and ceased when the captain switched off, and Banks was able to speak normally, keeping his voice low as he directed the squad.

“I want a sweep of everything above ground here first,” he said. “Wiggo and Buller with me on the left, Sarge and Cally on the right, and join up at the foot of yon pyramid. Shoot first, question later, and shout if you find anything hinky.”

Buller spoke up, almost shouting.

“We need to get down to the cave with the gold, right now.”

“No,” Wiggo replied, barely above a whisper, but leaning in close to Buller’s face so that his meaning could not be any clearer. “What we need is for you to be a good wanker, shut the fuck up, keep quiet, and not get us killed. Or do you want a skelp?”

Buller wisely went quiet, and followed, sandwiched between Banks and Wiggins, as they headed left toward the first of the tumbled ruins that lined the causeway.