Operation: Congo

- 23 -

Banks didn’t know much about dinosaurs but he knew better than to turn his back on a predator. He stood silent and gazed back at the beast that had stopped and was looking down at the dead raptor and rider.

“Get him,” the king shouted and moved to urge his raptor forward. The T-rex stopped him by the simple action of nudging his raptor with its huge head. The raptor went quiet and still; it obeyed the king on its back, yes, but it gave its true allegiance to the real king towering above them. Banks began to feel the faint stirrings of hope.

He pointed the rifle at the dead raptor below him then pointed it at the nearest tree and let off three shots, blasting splinters of bark and wood into the air. Then he pointed the rifle at the raptor the king was riding.

The T-rex snorted. Banks felt hot moist air on his face and tasted meat in his mouth. The beast looked at the weapon then at the dead raptor then at the king’s raptor. Its tail swung lazily in the air behind it but its gaze never left Banks.

“Get them!” the king shouted again. The T-rex nudged the man’s raptor again harder this time and again it refused its rider’s command.

Banks spoke, not taking his eyes off the T-rex.

“A true king looks after his subjects,” he said and realized as he said it that he wasn’t talking to the human but to the beast. “All of his subjects.”

The king tried to spur his raptor into an attack but it was having none of it and refused to budge.

“They have usurped my authority,” the man shouted. “They must die!”

Banks raised the aim of his rifle to point directly at the king’s chest. The T-rex watched, still unmoving. It snorted again, more wet heat in Banks’ face. Banks had the strangest feeling that the huge animal was somehow amused at the proceedings.

“I don’t think the true ruler around here agrees with you,” he said to the king and winked at the man.

The king kicked his raptor hard and dug a spearhead into its flank in an attempt to persuade it into an attack. The raptor yelped in pain. The T-rex looked at Banks, looked at the king, then plucked the screaming man from the raptor’s back as neatly as flicking a fly with a finger. The man was still screaming as a huge foot slammed him into the mud. The feathered headdress flew off into the river and floated away in the current. The T-rex bent its head and bit, just once. The last they saw of the king’s head was as it vanished down the T-rex’s throat as it swallowed. It looked directly at Banks and bellowed, a blast of wet air ruffling his hair. It nudged the king’s raptor gently, almost tenderly, with its head, then turned away.

The raptor followed.

The king’s men up on the bank were slower to take their leave but Banks saw that they would not overrule the T-rex’s decision. He showed them his rifle.

“We’re leaving now. Do not follow us. I’ll tell you what I told him,” he said, pointing at what was left of their king. “I only show leniency once. I’m not stupid.”

“And neither am I,” one of the riders said in the same clipped English his former leader had used. “Do not come back, sir. You are not welcome here.”

He turned his raptor and headed off back into the jungle. The rest followed them, leaving the squad and the WHO team survivors alone on the river and bank.

“Fuck me, Cap,” Wiggins said at Banks’ side. “I damn near pished myself but you just stood there, stared down a T-rex, and won. How are any of the rest of us ever going to top that?”

“I wouldn’t recommend trying, Wiggo. You got a fag? I’m gasping here.”