It took fifteen minutes to regroup. He listened to the radio chatter as their commander barked orders and the men tried to help the wounded. Once they got their senses back, they changed direction. Sergei sent two squads uphill above the stream, trying to avoid more booby traps that could be in the vale on either side of the water. This exposed the soldiers to Marcus. He let loose a short burst, killing three more.
Marcus adjusted his position again while they tried to figure out from where he was shooting. A squad of rebels ran into the jungle, trying to outflank his last position, but by the time they reached the area, he was already another hundred yards upstream and waiting for their next move.
Half an hour later, they moved forward again. This time, the trail led them into a narrow bottleneck between two high and steep hills. He listened to them over the radio as they discussed the best route.
“We could skirt the hills on the outside,” said one voice.
“That will take us nearly a mile out of the way on either side of the stream,” another replied.
“Should we send men over the tops of the hills on both sides?” The first voice said.
“Don’t be stupid, we don’t know how many shooters are over there,” Sergei said. “Besides, that will add too much time. They are getting away.”
“He may be dead.” A voice said.
“Yes, it’s been more than thirty minutes since the last shot. He’s probably dead or run away.” Sergei said. “Stay on the trail, watch for traps and move quickly.”
The men rose and moved through the narrow gulley two or three at a time. He watched through the sights of his AK-47 from more than a hundred yards away. Marcus let two dozen men pass safely through, then Sergei came into view. Cautiously, moving up to and through the narrow opening between the hills, he stepped into the clear space on the northern side of the hills. The man called the Soviet, eyes darting warily back and forth, walked right into Marcus’s rifle sights.
At this distance, without a scope and, only using open iron sights, Marcus could not see the details of the man’s face. He could not see the cold iciness in the warlord’s eyes, or hear the curses on his breath as his frightened men drove on before him. At a hundred yards, through the metal post on the end of his rifle, all Marcus could see was a tall, tanned white man who had ordered the killing of an orphanage full of innocent children and their caretakers, who had slaughtered thirty-two Royal Marines sent in to the rescue, and who was now bent on killing the people who had helped Marcus survive.
Marcus exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger with his curled finger. The bullet slammed into the Russian’s chest. A fountain of blood splashed skyward. The Soviet staggered on his feet. Marcus squeezed again. The second round smashed into Sergei’s forehead, blowing his brains across the men behind him.
Men again began firing wildly into the woods in Marcus’s direction, but as before, their gunfire was poorly managed and missed him entirely. One man stood up and started to shout orders. He looked like the second-in-command, so Marcus planted two shots in his chest, sending him to the ground. At this, the rest of the men panicked and shouted in fear for their lives as Marcus continued to fire randomly at them, taking out four more with only one shot apiece.
Their leader gone, his second-in-command killed, and their comrades dropping like flies, the whole gang of thugs dissolved into a mass of frightened men, running back the way they had come.
Marcus slinked quietly into the jungle and followed the stream north. In a couple of hours, he would reach the border and safety.
Chapter 39
Ambassador Malcom Lime was shocked when the Marine staff sergeant at the security station called his office and told him that there was an American who claimed to be Marcus Johnson at the front desk.
“Marcus Johnson, the Marine gunnery sergeant?” he asked, bewildered. “Can you verify his identity?”
“Yes, sir. I trained under this man at Quantico just three years ago. This is Gunny Johnson, sir — two other Marines down here concur.”
“Oh, this is unbelievable, Sergeant. This is great! Send him up without delay, then.”
The ambassador opened his door and waited for Marcus to be led to his office. A moment later, Marcus Johnson, in a white button-down shirt and black trousers, walked down the hall with the staff sergeant who had called from downstairs. As they approached the office door, Ambassador Lime slowly shook his head from side to side, a look of awed disbelief across his face.
“I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it.” He thrust his hands forward toward Marcus and grasped the Marine’s in his own, shaking it vigorously. “You are alive! Oh, God, this is going to make some people very happy. Very happy indeed!”
Once in the office, they settled down and the ambassador filled him in on what had happened since his disappearance.
He told Marcus that after the team did not radio for the helicopter extraction unit, another team was sent in to find out what had happened. They came upon the dead at the orphanage and recovered most of the bodies, which had been stripped of all useable clothing and equipment. Three men were found to be “non-recoverable”, meaning their bodies had either been so damaged by the explosions as to be unidentifiable, or there was little trace of their remains. Marcus was one of these, as was Barclay, who had been next to him during the attack and probably took a direct hit from the RPG. Marcus had been pronounced missing and assumed dead, and his family had already been informed. They would certainly be happy to discover that he had actually survived.
After a delicious meal, Marcus was given a room at the finest hotel available in Conakry. Once settled in, Marcus called his friend Linus and told him as much as he could, asking him to pass on to his parents the news that he was alive. Linus had started to say something back, but the connection, which had been very crackly from the start, abruptly went out and he was unable to reconnect the call. He then found a piece of paper and a pen and wrote two letters. The first was to his mother, the second to Lonnie.
Lonnie,
These past two months have been the hardest of my life, but I want you to know that it was the dream of seeing you again that sustained me through it all. I witnessed the most evil that men can do displayed like a parade before my eyes, but I put a stop to it. The desire to see you again, with honor, has been the sole motivating factor that led me to do what I did to not only survive, but to save the lives of those in my care.
If it were not for the vision of your beauty constantly floating before my mind, I would have had no reason to continue on in the adventure that I have endured.
I love you madly, and with extreme eagerness await the day we are together again.
Your Marine,
Your Love,
Marcus
Chapter 40
Wyatt, Johnson, Wasner, and two of his SEALs landed in the state’s Blackhawk helicopter at the remote trooper post in the small town of Sunshine. The town was a fairly young settlement of about two hundred people scattered through the forest high in the mountains on the south side of the Alaska Range. In the clear, cold, starlit night, the shadowy outline of the mountains stood out against the inky darkness of the sky. High above the other peaks, like an emperor gazing upon his subjects, stood the massive mountain locally known as Denali. The literal translation of the Athabaskan name is ‘Great One’. Most Americans know it as Mount McKinley. The second tallest peak in the world, it juts skyward nearly five miles above sea level.