Ghost Flight

49

Jaeger awoke.

It was sometime in the depths of the night. At first he was unsure what had disturbed him.

As his senses tuned in to his immediate surroundings, he detected a thick and ghostly tension about the camp. And then, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a wraith-like form melt out of the dark jungle. Almost at the same instant, he became aware that there were dozens more such figures emerging from the trees.

He saw all-but-naked forms detach themselves from the gloom, and flit noiselessly through the camp. Weapons held at the ready, they moved with a single-minded purpose. Jaeger reached down, his fingers feeling for the cold steel of his combat shotgun. He slipped his hand around it, drawing it into the hammock beside him.

Other than himself, he could see that only Alonzo was awake. An unspoken understanding was telegraphed across the darkness between them: somehow the team’s watch must have fallen apart, and the Indians had stolen unnoticed into their camp.

They were outnumbered many times over, that much was clear, and Jaeger felt certain the Indians had further firepower secreted in the forest. It was also clear what the consequences would be if he and Alonzo opened fire. There would be a bloodbath, but by sheer force of numbers the Indians would end up slaughtering the lot of them.

Jaeger forced himself to hold his fire, signalling Alonzo to do likewise.

Moments later, three figures materialised at his side. Silent, dressed only in bark strips and bedecked in feather and bone amulets, each hefted a hollow wooden tube – a blowpipe – which was aimed at Jaeger’s head. Jaeger didn’t doubt that they were armed with darts tipped in curare.

All around him, Jaeger’s fellow expeditioners were prodded into life, each coming awake to the frightening realisation of capture. Only Hiro Kamishi was absent from his hammock. They’d set staggered watches, with different changeover times, and Jaeger figured it was Kamishi who must have been on sentry and failed to spot their attackers.

But why had Kamishi been standing guard alone? It was supposed to be two on watch all night long. Either way, presumably he was a captive now, along with the rest of them.

Jaeger had precious little time to ponder that now. With hand gestures and harsh, guttural commands – the exact meaning was lost on Jaeger, but the sense was crystal clear – he was ordered down from his hammock. As two of the Indians covered him with their blow-darts, the third wrestled his shotgun out of his hands.

He was forced to collapse his camp, pack his hammock and poncho, and hoist his pack on to his shoulders. Then he was shoved powerfully in the back, leaving little room for doubt about what was required of him. Jaeger needed to march, and there would be no changing into wet gear for the coming journey, wherever it was taking them.

As he exited the camp, Jaeger spotted the leader of the Indian party – the same warrior commander he had confronted on the riverbank – issuing orders. Their eyes met and Jaeger found himself looking into pools of blank nothingness.

It reminded him of the gaze of the jaguar.

Flat, dark, unreadable.

Hunting.

Jaeger fell into step alongside Hiro Kamishi. The veteran of the Tokusha Sakusen Gun – Japan’s elite military force – was unable to meet his gaze. Kamishi had to know that he had let the entire team down, perhaps with fatal consequences.

‘I am so sorry,’ he muttered, hanging his head in shame. ‘It was my second sentry duty, I closed my eyes for just a second and—’

‘We’re all tired,’ Jaeger whispered. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. But where was the other guy on watch?’

Kamishi flicked his eyes up to Jaeger. ‘I was meant to wake you, but I let you sleep. I thought I was strong enough to last my watch alone. This,’ he gestured at their Indian captors, ‘is the result. I have failed in my duty as a warrior. My pride has shamed my Bushido heritage.’

‘Listen, they took some of our gifts,’ Jaeger reminded him. ‘Proves they’re capable of friendly contact. Seeking it even. And without you, we’d never have reached out to them. So no need for shame, my friend. I need you strong—’

Jaeger’s words were cut short by an agonising blow to the head. One of the Indians had noticed him and Kamishi talking, and his reward was a crack with a club to the skull. Talk was clearly not what was expected of them; they were expected to march.

As they moved further away from their camp, more figures melted out of the shadows. In some inexplicable way the Indians seemed able to remain invisible even at close quarters – at least until they wished to show themselves.

Jaeger was well acquainted with elite forces camouflage techniques. He’d spent days in hidden jungle observation posts, remaining all but invisible to any passers-by. But it wasn’t simply camouflage that the Indians were employing here; it was something far deeper and more profound. Somehow, they used a force – an intangible energy and skill – to render themselves at one with the jungle.

At a top-secret SAS training school Jaeger had been briefed by a man who’d spent years living with the world’s most remote tribes. The aim of the session had been to learn how to move and fight as well as the natives in such an environment. But no one among their number had ever kidded himself that he’d truly mastered it.

The way these tribes were able to use the force – it was incredible. And in spite of their dire predicament, Jaeger was fascinated to observe at close quarters how the Indians operated. They moved silently and without putting a foot wrong, even in the pitch darkness. By contrast, his team were stumbling over roots blindly or blundering into trees.

Jaeger knew that the best – sometimes the only – chance of escape lay immediately after capture. It was when captives still had the energy and spirit to make a break for it, and captors were least equipped to deal with handling prisoners. The captors were generally soldiers and not guards – and that was a big difference. Yet he had few doubts what would happen if anyone tried to make a run for it now: it would be a matter of moments before they were stuck full of poison darts, or arrows.

Yet as he walked, Jaeger silently counted out his footfalls. In one hand he held his compass, the faintly luminous dial just visible in the darkness, and in the other he clutched the pebbles.

It was crucial he kept track of where they were, for in doing so he might just give them all a chance of escape.