Jungle Kill (Black Ops) Read online

  Then there were the mosquitoes, also looking for blood, and giving you malaria in exchange. Mitch knew disease was the biggest killer in the jungle.

  It was a dangerous place, but western companies still came here for one simple reason: oil. Some two million barrels a day were extracted in the Niger Delta. For that kind of money, oil companies were willing to take a risk. Or, at least, they were willing to allow their employees to take a risk. They did as much as they could for their workers. They paid for protection, they spent money locally, they bribed. But not everyone was happy. Some locals were angry that the profits from the oil were going out of the country, instead of helping to solve local problems. Some were furious about the environmental destruction to the Delta.

  These were the problems that Mwanga felt he could solve. Colonel Nelson and his superiors obviously believed that Mwanga could solve them too, or they wouldn’t be here.

  The noise of the rotors whirling overhead filled the chopper bay. Mitch looked around at his comrades. Like him they were kitted out in combat gear with all the gizmos: night-vision goggles, hi-tech headset communication, laser sights on their rifles. And then, of course, their major weapon, the SA80 assault rifle each man held cradled in his arms, ready for use as soon as they hit the ground. The SA80 was perfect as a close-combat weapon: light to carry but powerful and very effective.

  In addition, Two Moons was the unit’s ordnance and explosives expert and had a range of more powerful weapons and explosives in his kit, including a rocket-propelled grenade launcher and mortars.

  Mitch suddenly felt the helicopter bank sharply, and then turn. They were going down. Nelson’s voice came through his headphones.

  ‘Here we go, guys!’

  The helicopter touched down in a small clearing in the jungle. It took just seconds for the six men to jump down from the open bay doors and head for the trees, where they took cover. The helicopter soared back up into the sky, and roared away, the beat of its rotors drumming against the air. Then it was gone, back towards the refineries and the oil pipelines of the Niger Delta. It was still in view when the firing opened up: bullets from machine guns and rifles pouring into their position. They were under attack.

  5

  It was the trees that saved them.

  The six men threw themselves to the ground, taking what cover they could behind tree roots and gulleys in the uneven jungle floor. The trees around them took most of the damage, wood splinters and chunks of bark flying off as bullets smashed into them.

  ‘It’s an ambush! We’ve been sold out!’ came Nelson’s angry voice through their headsets.

  The six men already had their own guns pointed in the direction of enemy gunfire, which was wild and haphazard, suggesting they weren’t being attacked by trained soldiers. But bullets killed, no matter who was shooting.

  Lying in a dip in the ground, behind a tree root, Mitch scanned the area where most of the firing seemed to be coming from, on the other side of the clearing. It had been sheer good luck that the unit had run for the trees at this side. If they’d gone the other way, they’d have walked straight into the ambush.

  How many of them? It was hard to tell.

  ‘I’ve got a fix on the source of most of the machine guns,’ came Two Moons’ voice. ‘I’m going to stick an RPG in the middle of them, see what shakes the tree.’

  Two Moons already had the launcher ready, with the rocket-propelled grenade in place, poking out of the barrel. He levelled the rocket launcher and fired. It wasn’t an easy shot, with trees and foliage on the other side of the clearing blocking the way, but Two Moons was an expert. There was an explosion from within the trees, a huge flash of fire, followed by screams.

  ‘Hit ‘em!’ yelled Nelson.

  While Two Moons reloaded the rocket launcher, the other five soldiers poured tracers of bullets into the smoke where the RPG had struck. As men stumbled out of the jungle into the clearing, some with their clothes on fire or smouldering, the bullets cut them down.

  More bullets hit the unit’s position from other parts of the jungle.

  ‘They’re trying to come from the sides!’ came Tug’s voice. ‘Troopers!’

  Immediately Mitch switched a solid stream of gunfire to his left, while Gaz opened up to the unit’s right. Benny continued laying down fire across the clearing into the trees opposite. Mitch could tell their shooting was having an effect by the fact that the firing from across the clearing had lessened.

  ‘OK, let’s take it to them!’ Nelson said. ‘Round the sides of the clearing. Mitch, you’re with me. Gaz, you’re with Tug. Benny and Two Moons, keep hitting them from here!’

  Mitch followed Nelson as they began to work their way through the trees, heading towards the area at the left of the clearing. They crawled forward at speed, on hands and elbows, over tree roots and through gulleys, through shallow, swampy, stagnant mud that squelched and oozed and sucked at them. Tug and Gaz were doing the same on the other side. Meanwhile Benny kept up a steady stream of gunfire directly across the clearing, while Two Moons launched another two RPGs. More explosions, more screams, more smoke. It would create a diversion and give the four soldiers cover as they launched their counter-attack.

  All Mitch’s senses were alert as he scanned the shadowy trees ahead. Like Nelson, he kept low, his head popping up to check the area, each time in a different place and at a different angle, before ducking down again. Never give a marksman time to line your position up for a shot.

  Suddenly Mitch saw them! Six men, moving forward, crouching, armed with machine guns and rifles. Nelson had seen them too. He nodded at Mitch, and both soldiers jumped up, fingers on their triggers, their streams of bullets tearing between the trees at their targets. Five of the six men crumpled to the ground. The sixth man swung his gun to aim at Nelson, but Mitch took him out with one burst.

  There was the sound of rapid fire from their right, and then it fell silent. Benny and Two Moons had also stopped firing.

  Mitch and Nelson waited, crouching behind the cover of the jungle trees, guns at the ready.

  ‘OK,’ said Nelson. ‘Move forward, but keep under cover the whole way. Let’s see what we’ve got. Watch out for tripwires.’

  They moved forward slowly through the swampy jungle, every sense alert, ready for a sudden attack. But it didn’t come. The final rustle of movement in the trees was the men of Delta Unit regrouping in an area scorched and devastated by Two Moons’ rocket-launched grenades. Seven men lay dead around them.

  ‘Seven here,’ murmured Nelson. ‘We caught six on the way, so that makes thirteen.’

  ‘We took out eight,’ said Tug.

  ‘Twenty-one accounted for,’ said Nelson thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, Mitch? That all of them?’

  Mitch shook his head. ‘Depends who they are, but from my experience gangs here going out to attack tend to be bigger. Thirty at least.’

  ‘The satellite pictures only showed twenty with Mwanga,’ pointed out Benny.

  ‘That’s after they got him,’ said Mitch. ‘After the event they usually split into smaller groups.’

  ‘So at least nine managed to get away,’ said Nelson. ‘Maybe more.’ He turned to the unit. ‘OK, guys, we all knows what this means, but I’m going to spell it out all the same. We were betrayed. This lot knew we were coming, and when and where. It may be nothing to do with Mwanga. For all we know they didn’t learn the real reason we were coming in but decided to get rid of us because we got in their way. Or someone does know why we’re really here and is set on stopping us. The bottom line is we’re exposed. From now on we are a definite target. And we can’t trust anyone. It could have been our chopper pilot who gave our position away, so we can’t risk calling up a chopper to get out. We can’t risk calling up anyone.

  ‘So, we go on with the mission: we find Mwanga, and then we take him somewhere safe where we can get away, out of the Delta, but we do it on our own terms.’

  ‘Mwanga may already be dead,’ said Mitch.
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br />   ‘Or this attack may be proof he’s still alive,’ said Tug. He gestured at the dead bodies. ‘If these men were part of the crowd who’ve got him, they could have been the first line of defence.’

  ‘Maybe,’ agreed Nelson. ‘The thing is we don’t know. Only one way to find out. We go on.’

  ‘What do we do with them?’ asked Benny, pointing at the dead bodies.

  Nelson shrugged. ‘Leave them,’ he said. ‘The jungle animals will take them soon enough. We move on.’

  6

  The jungle was thick and dark, and the men found themselves sinking into wet soil sometimes up to their knees if they strayed from the rough tracks made by animals.

  They were travelling in single file, Nelson and Tug at the front, with Benny bringing up the rear. Gaz, Two Moons and Mitch were in the middle. Every man had his rifle at the ready in case of another ambush.

  The air was so hot and humid that every movement covered the men with sweat, which attracted insects that clung to their skin.

  ‘Is it always like this here?’ asked Two Moons.

  Mitch grinned. ‘It never drops below sixty per cent humidity and sometimes goes right up to one hundred per cent. Think yourself lucky we’re here in the dry season.’

  ‘This is the dry season?’ queried Two Moons.

  Gaz laughed. ‘Mitch is right,’ he said. ‘I did a couple of tours of duty in West Africa. Not in Nigeria, but in nearby countries. It’s much the same there. Stinking hot and the air is just steam.’

  ‘How long’s this dry season last?’ asked Two Moons.

  ‘Two months,’ answered Mitch. ‘January and now, February. Once the rain kicks in, this jungle becomes a proper swamp. Then we’d be wading through it, up to our waists in water – and that’s when the mosquitoes really come out and attack you.’

  They saw that Tug, ahead of them, had stopped and thrown up his hand in the signal to freeze. They all stood and listened.

  The sounds of the jungle were all around them: insects clicking, birds calling and fluttering through the leaves. Then they heard what Tug had heard: a heavier sound, something crashing through the leaves of the canopy above their heads.

  ‘Monkeys,’ said Mitch.

  ‘Do they bite?’ asked Two Moons.

  ‘Only if you attack them,’ replied Mitch.

  ‘My cousin got bitten by a monkey,’ said Gaz. ‘He got infected and lost his arm.’

  ‘Where was that?’ asked Two Moons. ‘One of these other West African countries you were talking about?’

  Gaz shook his head. ‘A zoo. He stuck his hand through the bars. He was an idiot.’

  Suddenly the crashing sound got louder, and five monkeys passed above them, swinging from branch to branch, calling loudly to one another. Then they were gone.

  Nelson signalled for the unit to move forward.

  Mitch, just behind Tug and Nelson, heard the two commanders talking tactics.

  ‘It’s slow travelling through this jungle,’ said Tug. ‘If we travelled on open ground, we could get to the target quicker.’

  ‘I thought of that, Tug,’ said Nelson. ‘But that ambush worries me. If they knew we were coming, the rest of the group will be watching out for us. Out in open ground we’re an easy target for them. At least in the jungle they’ve got to come in and find us, and we’ll hear them coming. Yeah, it’s slower, but at least we’ve got more chance of staying alive.’

  ‘But does Mwanga?’ asked Tug. ‘The longer they’ve got him, the more chance there is of them killing him.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Nelson. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’

  It was hard work but they made good time through the terrain, despite the difficult conditions. Every now and then they stopped when they heard a heavier noise than usual, but on each occasion it turned out to be an animal rooting in the swamp, or monkeys up in the high branches. Now and then a snake slithered by, or they saw the flicker of something vanishing into the undergrowth, but mostly their journey went without a hitch. The nearest they came to real danger was when Two Moons found himself sinking fast into a pit of oozing mud and the others had to pull him out without sinking in themselves.

  ‘How deep is this mud?’ asked Two Moons after they’d dragged him out of it.

  ‘Depends,’ replied Mitch. ‘In some places, just waist deep. In others, you can sink right in over your head and disappear. The trouble is once you start sinking a vacuum forms under you that sucks you down more and more. Also, make sure no leeches get stuck to you. They can get in between any gaps in your clothing and they just love the taste of blood from nice warm moist skin.’

  ‘I have been in jungle before,’ said Two Moons.

  ‘Yeah, but trust me, until you’ve been bitten by one of these leeches, you ain’t been bitten,’ finished Mitch.

  They took turns to take the lead and to bring up the rear, and for part of the trek Mitch found himself guarding the rear with Tug. Unlike the others, Tug stayed silent. Mitch still wasn’t sure whether this was just Tug’s character or if Tug was still suspicious of him. At least Benny had put his opinion into words. Tug just stayed close-mouthed, his ears and eyes alert as they made their way through the jungle.

  They had been travelling for about two hours when suddenly from about a mile ahead they heard the ear-splitting sound of automatic gunfire, followed by screaming and wailing.

  7

  The unit moved forward, rifles ready, crouching low, using the jungle as cover. Nelson was in front, Benny, Gaz and Tug watched the sides while Mitch and Two Moons guarded the rear, all alert for any sudden movements from the jungle around them. All the time the sound of terrified wailing was getting nearer.

  They reached a point where the jungle ended and saw a small village: a collection of mud huts with roofs made of palm branches, and some dwellings made from bits of corrugated iron and plastic.

  Two men sat on a battered open jeep. Both of them carried automatic rifles, which they held casually across their laps.

  Another armed man was standing in the clearing at the centre of the village, aiming his rifle at a group of women and children.

  Further back stood a couple of unarmed men, both with their hands on top of their heads. Two more armed men covered them with rifles.

  But all the unit’s attention was drawn to the sixth man, the obvious leader of the gang. A golden headband was tied round his shaven skull, and he was more heavily armed than the rest. As well as an automatic rifle slung over his back, he had loaded ammunition belts hanging from his shoulders, and a vicious-looking machete in his right hand. With his left hand he was gripping the hair of a man kneeling in front of him and he was shouting at the man. Specks of spittle came from his mouth as he yelled and waved the machete menacingly.

  The kneeling man said nothing, but Mitch could see blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

  ‘Any idea what’s going on?’ Nelson whispered to Mitch.

  ‘A raiding party,’ murmured Mitch. ‘Looks like some local warlord and his gang. Rob, loot and terrify. It’s an occupational hazard here.’

  ‘Think they could be rebels?’ asked Nelson. ‘You know, part of the group holding Mwanga?’

  ‘Could be,’ replied Mitch. ‘But they could just as easily be a bunch of regular bandits grabbing what they can.’

  ‘I say we leave them alone and move on,’ said Benny. ‘It’s a local issue. We’ve got a mission to complete. We get involved here, it blows our cover. Plus, we could take casualties, and it’s the wrong time for that. We need every man we’ve got if we’re going to free Mwanga.’

  Nelson said nothing, just kept his eyes on what was happening in the village.

  The bandits watched their leader. From the grins on their faces it was obvious they were enjoying what was happening.

  ‘Seems to me our cover’s blown anyway,’ put in Two Moons. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t have been shot at as soon as we arrived.’

  ‘You think we ought to intervene, Two Moons?’ asked Nelson.r />
  Two Moons nodded. ‘I hate bullies,’ he said. ‘We let ‘em get away with this, they’ll keep coming back. Keep terrorising these villagers. And my guess is that fella with the gold headband sure ain’t gonna use that machete for cleaning his fingernails.’

  ‘This is not part of our mission,’ insisted Benny. ‘We screw up here, who’s going to rescue Mwanga?’

  ‘I agree with Benny,’ put in Tug. ‘I’m sympathetic to the plight of these people, but we have a mission. That’s why we’re here, and we mustn’t jeopardise that.’

  ‘What about you other guys?’ Nelson asked Mitch and Gaz.

  ‘I’m with Two Moons,’ said Gaz.

  ‘Me too,’ said Mitch. ‘For one thing, these bandits are in our way. They could be a problem when we’re coming back with Mwanga. If we take ‘em out now, that’s one less obstacle for us to deal with later.’

  Nelson nodded. ‘Three to two, gentlemen,’ he murmured to Benny and Tug.

  ‘You’re the commanding officer,’ Tug pointed out to him.

  ‘Damn right,’ agreed Nelson. ‘Which gives me two votes. So, it’s five to two on us going in.’ He grinned. ‘I really don’t like that gold headband he’s wearing.’

  The leader had now raised the machete above his head and was waving it around threateningly. The man kneeling on the ground closed his eyes and tried to push his head into his shoulders, as if it would stop him being attacked.

  ‘If we’re going to move, we’d better move fast,’ said Gaz. ‘Before he chops that guy’s head off.’

  ‘He’s not going to chop his head off,’ said Mitch. ‘If he does that, the village packs up and moves on, which means no more stealing from them in the future.’

  ‘So it’s going to be OK,’ said Tug. ‘He’s not going to kill him. Just threaten him.’

  Mitch shook his head. ‘No. He’ll cut one of the man’s hands off, as an example to the others. Then he’ll start on the others. Cut a hand off one of the women or one or two of the kids.’