Operation: Congo

- 9 -

The climb almost proved too much for Banks and Wiggins. The two of them had managed to avoid any more pursuers and had reached the crater rim with no further problems. They came up short when faced with what looked like a sheer wall rising up into the dark above them—cold, black, basaltic rock with edges as sharp as razors.

“I think we’re buggered, Cap,” Wiggins said after three attempts on what seemed like promising areas of ascent turned into retreat and bruised and cut hands and knees.

“Master of the understatement as usual, Wiggo,” Banks replied. “But our mates are on the other side so one way or another, we’re going over the top.”

“Maybe flag down a ride on one of yon dinosaurs?”

“And what are you going to pay it with? Sexual favors?”

“Hey, don’t mock it, Cap. That’s the plan that gets me home most nights after the pub.”

They were talking to avoid looking at the wall of rock and they both knew it. Banks forced his attention back to the cliff.

I’ve climbed harder.

He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud until Wiggins replied.

“Aye, that you have, Cap. But that was a temple in the Amazon jungle and you were in your birthday suit. I think there’s too much danger to my tadger to get my kecks off here.”

But the memory of that wet climb alone in the dark stirred something in Banks, the same steely resolve that had always got him through.

“One more try then, Wiggo,” he said and put a hand on the rock face as if making its acquaintance for the first time. “First one up gets a round in.”

“That’s hardly an incentive for me to move my arse, is it?”

“I’ll throw in a fag?”

“Now you’re talking,” Wiggins replied.

The two of them took to the rock again.

It was as if a mental block had been shifted. Banks found handholds where none had previously been apparent and his muscles remembered the old climbing rhythms that had been impossible to find earlier. He swung, hand, foot, hand, in a loping movement up the cliff and even the swinging weight of his weapon at his back refused to unsettle him.

He was vaguely aware of Wiggins huffing and puffing somewhere below but for Banks, there was only him and the challenge of the rock, an old battle he had won many times and one he now won again. What seemed like only a minute or so later, he pulled himself over a slight overhang to sit on the crater lip with another drop into darkness below him on the far side.

“I’ll have that fag first,” Wiggins said, panting heavily as Banks took hold of his arm and hauled him over the overhang to sit beside him. They shared a smoke, cupping it inside their fingers to avoid the glow of the tip giving them away, sitting on what felt like the top of the world, the crater spread out under the stars below them.

Banks was looking for the flickering red of fire or a wash of brightness from a flashlight but there were only dark shadows below, no sign of any human activity, although a fresh barking roar from off to the left showed that there was life there.

“Well, we’re up,” Wiggins said as he stubbed out the end of the smoke with thumb and forefinger and let the remnants disperse naturally in the slight breeze. “What now, Cap?”

As if in answer, gunfire echoed around the crater. To Banks’ expert ear, it sounded like it came from the same direction of that last roar.

“The sarge and the lads are in trouble down there, Wiggo. Shift that lardy arse of yours—we’re going to the rescue.”

Descending proved much more difficult than the climb had been. The breeze stiffened, threatening to blow them off the cliff, and Banks had to take every move painfully slowly, testing that each point of contact with the rock would bear his weight before then reaching downward for the next. At times, movement was forced to be more lateral than downward when no holds emerged. He gauged they’d descended less than halfway before his muscles began to throb and complain. He knew that Wiggins with his heavier body would be suffering at least as equally.

And probably worse than the physical strain the fact that the climb was happening in deathly quiet only added to his worries for the team members lost somewhere out in the jungle. The assured loping dance of muscle and body he’d fallen into on the way up the rock escaped him on the descent. It rapidly turned into a test of will against strain and pain.

He only looked down once he estimated he must be getting near the canopy and was surprised to see, not trees, but the flat roofs of an extensive series of buildings, the nearest only ten feet below him. The buildings lay quiet with no sign that they’d been in recent use, although it was too dark to make out any detail. There was no sign of campfires or lights, no smell of smoke in the air, and no noise save for his own labored breathing and the scuffle of Wiggins’ feet on the rock some five feet above his head.

He went down another five feet, realized his arms weren’t going to manage much more effort, and let himself fall the rest of the way, praying to the gods of solid roofs and safe landings. He had been prepared for a soft landing, thatch or wood, so was surprised to land heavily on cold stone. The soles of his feet slapped down hard and he was quick to unsling his weapon, fearing that he’d given away their position. But no response came and he felt able to call up softly to Wiggins.

“I’m down, Wiggo. Another few feet and you can drop down beside me. I think we’re alone in this neck of the woods.”

“Thank fuck for that, Cap,” Wiggins said seconds later as he landed at Banks’ side. “Another few yards and I’d have dropped anyway, without a care for what was below.” He stamped on the hard roof. “And where the hell are we now?”

“Wherever it is, it seems to be deserted. Let’s see if there’s an easy way down. I’m done with climbing for a wee while.”

“Amen to that.”

They found an opening only a minute later, steps leading down an interior stairwell into pitch black.

“Did I mention I was also done with fucking about in the dark?” Banks said and switched on the sight-light of his rifle to lead their way. Wiggins followed suit at his rear and they cast dark shadows ahead of them as they went down the staircase.

Banks had been in ancient buildings many times over the years—on holidays in Egypt, in Knossos on Crete, and at work with the squad in temples in Syria and in the Amazon; this place had a similar sense of antiquity to all the others. What separated this from the rest was that his gut had started to seethe and roil as soon as they began on the stairs, the old instincts kicking in, the ones that told him that they weren’t nearly as alone as he’d hoped.

Wiggins picked up on the nervousness and kept close order at Banks’ back as they reached ground level and the stairwell opened out into a high, vaulted chamber, carved stone arches that to Banks’ eye looked as old as anything the Cretans had built.

Maybe even as old as the Egyptians. Who are these buggers and how did they get here?

He put the questions away; even if he got answers, they weren’t going to be any help in finding the lost members of the squad. He looked for the most likely exit route and found a larger opening on the far side of the chamber that proved to be a short corridor opening out into a shadowed courtyard beyond. He switched off his light before approaching the opening and gazed out into the dark.

It looked like they’d descended in the middle of a labyrinthine village of similar, if not even older, antiquity as the great gate. His internal compass told him that the gate lay somewhere off to his left, and that the shots they’d heard up top had come from even further left than that. But the gate was too well defended—and lit—for him to chance going straight at it.

“Cross the yard and north a bit, Wiggo,” he said. “We’ll circle ’round and see if we can pinpoint where the gunfire was coming from.”

Both men looked out into the darkness. Wiggins spoke first.

“I don’t like it, Cap. We’re exposed as soon as we take a step out there.”

“Yep. We can keep to the sides, stay in the shadows, but even then we’re sitting ducks.”

“Split the targets? You go right, I go left, and meet on the other side?”

“Aye, let’s split up. That always works,” Banks replied, letting the sarcasm show but although he didn’t like it one bit, there was still sense to the corporal’s suggestion; splitting the targets might buy them time to get across the yard.

And we can’t stand here all night.

“Okay, Wiggo, take the left side, and stay dark.” He pointed across the yard to where a darker shadow showed what was probably an alleyway headed north. “We’ll join up over there in two minutes, less if you shift your arse. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Hey, you know me, Cap,” Wiggins said and gave a mock salute before heading away left, quickly lost to be just one shadow among many.

Now that the decision was made, Banks wasted no time in second-guessing it. He immediately moved to his right, hugging the wall and trying to relax his gaze, aware that peering into blackness just made it ever darker. He used his left hand to feel the rough stone walls at his back and moved quickly, left foot stepping over right in an almost balletic movement that enabled him to cover the ground quickly and silently. He felt alone, exposed, and his roiling gut was still warning him of trouble, but he was able to reach the edge of the courtyard and start north without encountering any problems. He could only hope that Wiggins was having it so easy.

He reached another opening seconds later. He sensed it led into a larger empty chamber but didn’t take any time in checking it, moving swiftly past the doorway to reach the comparative safety of having stone at his back again. He’d just had time in the passage to note a new smell coming from the dark room, acrid and animal-like, a rancid hint of the abattoir to it. On another night, he might have taken the time to check it out, but he was aware that the seconds were flying. Wiggins might already be waiting for him at their agreed rendezvous across the courtyard.

He upped his speed, risking that the shadows would mask his movement. He reached the northeast corner with no mishap and began to sidle along towards where he hoped his corporal would be waiting.

There was no sign of the younger man in the darkness at the mouth of the alleyway but the smell was there too, the taste of animal at the back of his throat and in his nose. He let out a low whistle, waiting for the trained response. Instead, he heard a strangled whisper from Wiggins somewhere deeper in the alleyway.

“I went and did something stupid, Cap.”

Banks switched on his rifle light and trained it at where the sound had come from.

He saw Wiggins’ weapon first. It had been dropped or thrown against a wall, well out of the man’s reach. As he raised the rifle, the full extent of Wiggins’ difficulty became clear.

The corporal lay on the ground, held there under one massive clawed foot that rested on his belly—one swipe of a talon and his guts would be on the outside. The raptor stood perfectly still, its eyes fixed on Wiggins… but the rider on its back was looking directly at Banks. He had feathers implanted across his shoulders and woven into his hair, giving him an outlandish, even frightening countenance so Banks was surprised to be addressed in perfect English, a formal, clipped accent that spoke of privilege, one that was used to being in charge.

“If you would be so kind, sir, as to put down your weapon? As you can see, I have you at a disadvantage.”

He gave a twitch on the reins and the raptor’s claw tightened at Wiggins’ belly.

“Blow the fucker away, Cap,” Wiggins said, then grimaced in pain as one of the talons bit.

“Your weapon, sir?” the raptor’s rider said and showed Banks his grip on the reins.

Banks had a clear shot at the rider’s unprotected chest but couldn’t chance taking it; the raptor would have Wiggins ripped open in the same instant. Similarly, to take down the raptor, he’d now have to change his aim, giving the rider his chance to tug on the reins. He was, as Wiggins himself would put it, snookered.

He let his rifle drop. Two of the natives stepped out of the shadows behind him and pinned his arms to his side. His rifle was kicked aside, rattling away along the alley in the darkness.

“Now we can talk like gentlemen,” the rider said out of the darkness.