Operation: Congo

- 6 -

Once they got down off the ridge and onto a track that clearly would lead them to the town, Banks had the squad stow their packs under a recognizable tree and cover them with branches.

“Only take two clips of ammo each, lads, we’re going in fast and light. Leave the rest here; this is our backup plan. Everybody remember where we parked.”

The team moved to comply then Hynd brought up the rear again as Banks led them at the double onto the wide trail that led down the center of the valley towards the far end and their destination. The flickering light from the blazing torches showed them the way although at the front the captain had turned on his sight light on his rifle to mark the trail immediately in front of his feet. The rest of the squad padded along silently in his wake.

Hynd still couldn’t shake his feeling that they were heading directly into serious trouble. It was more than just roil and tumble in his gut—he understood pre-battle nerves only too well. This was something else, a heavy, almost overwhelming sense of impending dread that had been with him since their first encounter with the barking noise on the river, as if the sound itself bore physically down on him. The last time he’d felt anything like it had been back in Iraq at the start of the century.

And what a shitstorm that turned out to be.

But there was nothing he could do about it—it wasn’t as if he was going to turn on his heels and run. He tried to use it to his advantage, a heightened sense of watchfulness in the face of danger. So what if he expected an attack at any second? It wasn’t a bad way to keep alive in spots like this.

Ahead of them, the fires of the town burned even brighter in the night sky and a wailing howl rose from the township, too high and pure to be a human voice—Hynd suspected it was some kind of flute, maybe a horn. The sound carried all around the valley in the still night air… and was answered in kind by more barking, rasping calls from the other side of the gated doorway.

What the fuck have they got in there?

As the barking got louder still, so too did the sense of doom grow in his head.

“Cap,” he said, just loud enough for the squad to hear and not caring that he was breaking protocol. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”

Banks brought the squad to a halt and came back to speak to Hynd.

“What’s up, Sarge? Your guts playing up again? Aye, and so are mine. But this is a rescue mission—it’s what we do. If you’ve got any bright ideas, I’m all ears.”

“I suppose taking off and nuking the site from orbit isn’t an option?” Hynd replied with a thin smile.

“Maybe later… first we need to get the WHO folks out if we can. But if you’re not up for it, stay here and watch our backs and we’ll talk about it later?”

Hynd knew that Banks was giving him an out that only a friend would offer. He answered, in kind, as a friend.

“And see you get all the action? Fuck that. Lead on, Cap, and ignore me—I’m just getting to be a daft auld git. I’ll be fine.”

“Like always,” Banks said, and they clasped hands on each other’s forearms before Banks turned and led the squad ahead again.

The short stop hadn’t improved Hynd’s mood any—he was still cowed under an umbrella of doom and now he had embarrassed himself into the bargain.

They continued at double-time along an ever-widening trail, making swift progress as the mud here had been tramped down hard and baked underfoot. Up ahead, the rasping barking, the howl of the horn, and the waving, burning firebrands merged into a cacophony of noise and wash of color that was now joined by a rhythmic beat of hands clapping and stomping of feet. There was a definite sense of something building towards a crescendo.

Banks at the front raised the pace until they were almost running, the huts mere dark shadows to either side of them as they went through an empty town but even then they arrived at the wall too late. The balcony and the crucified captives along with it were being lowered down on the far side of the great doors. Three men on each side operated huge wooden winches on either side of the gate and ropes squealed as the balcony descended. At the same time, the chanting from the crowd rose to a frenzy, only two words now, ones that Hynd had heard before.

Mokele-Mbembe. Mokele-Mbembe.

Something answered on the other side of the wall, a barking roar stronger than any before. Someone screamed high and loud beyond the gate.

“Fuck this for a game of sodjers,” Banks shouted. He raised his rifle muzzle upwards and sent three shots into the air. The echoes rang loud and long around the cleared area in front of the door. The crowd as one turned at the sound.

“Good. Now that I’ve got your attention, fetch those people back up, right now,” Banks shouted and to punctuate the point aimed his weapon at the men operating the right-hand side winch. Hynd raised his own rifle to cover those on the left but none of the men on the winches showed any sign of moving.

Another barking roar came from the far side of the door, followed immediately by high screaming.

“Sarge, take Wilkins and Davies up top—see what you can do to get that rig back up there. Wiggo and I will cover you from down here.”

Hynd motioned to the two younger men and they followed him towards the great door even as an angry-looking crowd formed a semi-circle around where Banks and Wiggo stood, holding them off. A rudimentary set of wooden steps led up each side of the great door, the surface smoothed by many years—possibly centuries—of wear. Hynd took them fast, trusting the other two to follow, expecting an attack from above with every step upward.

No attack came. The six men still stood at the winches, seeming unconcerned by Hynd’s arrival. They all wore thick kilts wrapped at their waists, the material being leather-like but also glistening in colors no cow or deer hide had ever possessed. Hynd pointed his weapon at the exposed belly of the nearest man.

“Bring it up. Bring it back up right now.”

The man showed no sign of understanding. Instead of moving to operate the winch, he merely pointed down beyond the door, just as another barking roar echoed around them. The scream, when it came, was close now.

“Watch them,” Hynd said to Davies and Wilkins and moved to the top of the door so he could look down. The balcony had been lowered in a single unit all the way to the ground where six figures still hung on the X-shaped frames. The flickering flames from the torches on the wall sent dark shadows dancing on a forest canopy but there was something else there too, something that moved in a two-legged loping walk, head held high. It was only when a thick tail lashed the greenery that Hynd realized what he was looking at.

A dinosaur—a raptor some eight feet tall—walked out of the jungle and came forward towards the hanging captives. Even in the darkness, its colors seemed to swim in the flickering light and as it closed to where the captives hung, Hynd saw it was not skin that rippled, but a soft sheen of multicolored feathers. He had no time to consider the how or why of an impossible beast in this situation for it came on fast, head bobbing and legs pumping, its gaze fixed on a promised meal.

The raptor roared.

The captives screamed.

Hynd looked for an easy way to go to the captive’s defense but saw no way to bring them up quickly; the winch was protected by natives and getting them out the way was going to take time they didn’t have. The raptor roared again. Hynd fired two shots towards it, but the distance was still too great and he’d shot too hastily. The beast didn’t even flinch and kept coming on.

We’ll have to go down there.

The thought and action followed each other.

“After me, lads,” he said, shouldered his weapon, and went down over the wall, lowering himself first then dropping and rolling with the landing in one smooth action so that he was standing, weapon raised and facing the raptor as it roared again and came on like a train.

Wilkins was beside him two seconds later with Davies right behind both of them, so that all three stood in a line between the approaching beast and the hanging captives.

“Let’s show this fucker how we do things in Scotland,” Hynd said, raised his weapon, and fired three quick shots aiming for the largest target—the broad chest below the long neck of the raptor. At first, he thought he’d missed again but there was a darker patch among the feathers where he’d blown out a wound. The beast barely slowed though, still coming on and roaring even louder. The night was suddenly full of noise and confusion; gunfire and roaring, captives screaming, and more distant gunfire from the other side of the wall where Hynd guessed that the captain had problems of his own.

Davies and Wilkins each put tight groups of three into the beast’s chest. Even then it didn’t stop, as if its nervous system wasn’t able to process the fact it should already be lying down and dead. Hynd moved to meet it head-on, stood his ground in the face of a final defiant roar and a stench of rotting meat from its breath, and put two rounds down its throat. It finally realized its fate was sealed and fell with a ground-shaking thud at his feet.

Hynd put another round in the skull to make sure before turning to the younger men. The six captives had gone quiet, wide-eyed and staring at the dead thing on the ground.

“Get these folks down, lads,” he said. “Quick as you like. I’ll keep an eye open.”

Although quiet had descended for the moment on this side of the wall, the echo of gunfire still rose from the other side, accompanied by loud yelling and screaming. Davies and Wilkins were slowly getting the captives free from the binding ropes but two of the men collapsed to the ground immediately, as if their legs wouldn’t hold them. Hynd searched on both sides of the gate for a ladder, a rope, anything to get them back up top. As his gaze went up towards the balcony above, he caught a quick movement from the corner of his eye. He stepped nimbly aside as a spear thudded into the ground where he’d been standing. Another spear struck and stuck into the wood of one of the crossbeams a second after Wilkins had got the last woman free.

More spears hit the ground around them, only dumb luck and cover of dark shadows saving them from injury.

And dumb luck never holds.

“Fall back away from the wall, lads,” Hynd said. “We’re sitting ducks here.”

As the younger men led the captives out into the clearing, Davies having to take the weight of one of the men on his shoulder, there was more movement in the foliage to their north. A barking roar echoed across the clearing.

Three more answered it from deep under the canopy.