Ahead, Nicholson went flat on the ground, and the rest of them behind at ten-yard intervals dropped as well. Murdock bent over and hurried forward, sliding into the forest mulch beside his scout.
"So, what?"
"I saw somebody up there. Less than two hundred yards. We must be catching up with them."
"Let's go get them," Murdock said. Red moved out faster, charging down the slight slope. He didn't see the trip wire until he was on it. Then he screamed a warning, and tried to dive away from it. The trip wire snapped, releasing the arming spoon, and the grenade went off almost at once.
Red slammed into the ground too late. More than a dozen chunks of the shrapnel tore into his body. Two hit him in the chest, one in the throat, and four more large ones in his belly and legs. The ten-yard interval between men saved the rest of them. By the time Murdock dropped to the ground beside Nicholson, he was choking on his own blood. He looked up at Murdock and gave a small shrug.
"Been a good tour, L-T," he said. Then he gave one last long breath and died.
Murdock slammed his fist into the ground.
"Jaybird, stay with him. Keep some rounds so we can find you when we're ready to bug out of this firetrap. The rest of you, let's go get those bastards."
Magic Brown took over the point. He had left the big Fifty with Ronson when he ran out of rounds, and now moved along the plain trail. Fifty yards ahead he stopped and knelt.
Murdock went down beside him.
"No fucking expert, L-T, but looks like they split up again. One that way, one straight ahead."
"Brown and Holt, to the left," Murdock said. "Ching and I'll take the straight ahead. Let's get this thing wrapped up."
Murdock took the lead now, running when he was sure of the trail ahead, slowing to check the dirt and mulch of the woods floor. The brush thinned out, and he could see ahead thirty to fifty yards. He caught the glimpse of a green shirt vanishing into some trees, and put a dozen rounds into the area.
When they got there, Murdock found no body, only hurried tracks going along the side of the hill. They ran again. This time the brush petered out, and only a few trees remained. Ahead, Murdock saw a figure working along a rocky slope.
Ching lifted his M-4A1 Carbine and fired twice to get the range on single-shot, then flipped the lever and emptied his magazine at the target two hundred yards away.
The Kenyan soldier had turned to look behind him just as the rounds reached him. Murdock figured it was four or five hits. The man crumpled, then dropped his rifle, and flopped on his back.
Murdock nodded. "Yeah, splash one bogie. That one's not the general. Magic has him on the other trail. Let's get to where we left Red."
They turned and began working along their trail to where the dead SEAL lay on the ground.
Magic Brown had started out fast along the trail in the grass and leaf mold, but slowed as he watched for trip wires. He saw that the impressions in the mulch were deep, and hoped it was the general ahead.
Twice they took incoming fire. Both times they did not shoot back. Brown was down to his last magazine in his sniper rifle, and he wasn't sure how many rounds he had left. Then came an opening in the brush, and he saw a figure moving ahead. Three hundred yards. He lifted up and fired twice. The figure moved, and he had a good shot. But when he pulled the trigger, there was no round. He should have noticed when the magazine ran dry.
Ron Holt held fire. The target was out of range of his submachine gun. Both of them ran down the trail. Magic Brown worked ahead of Holt. The radioman tried to keep up, but he couldn't. He came around a small turn in the trail, and saw Brown twenty yards ahead. He put on a burst of speed, failed to see a root sticking out of the ground, and tripped and went down hard.
Holt threw out his arms to break his fall. His MP-5 fell to the ground, and he hit hard. A jolting pain streaked up his arm, and he rolled over. He'd lost the radio, and he reached for it. The stabbing pain caused him to cry out. He looked at his left arm. It hurt like fire. Broken, he was sure.
He gritted his teeth to hold down the pain, and crawled over to the fifteen-pound SATCOM radio. Once it was safe, he touched his lip mike.
"L-T. Holt here. I'm down. Think I broke my fucking arm. Brown is still after the guy over here."
"Hang in there, Holt," Murdock answered. "Get back to where we left Red. We'll make that our assembly point."
Ahead, Magic Brown heard the cry behind him, and figured that Holt was down. It was up to him, with no rounds and a worthless rifle. Still, he carried it. He could bluff with it. Yeah, maybe whoever was up ahead was short or out of ammo too.
He rounded a bend in the small canyon they had worked down to, and ahead, just vanishing behind a rock, he saw the general. Had to be him. The man was huge, tall, and wide. He carried a rifle.
Magic slid behind a large hardwood tree and watched the spot. It was no more than thirty yards ahead. For a minute nothing happened. Then the general lifted the rifle and rested it over the rock that shielded him. So maybe he did have rounds left. One way to find out. Magic surged into sight of the general, then jolted back. The rifle ahead fired almost at once. Good reflexes. At the same time Magic felt a blow on his right hip. He dodged out of sight and stared down at his hip looking for blood.
The holster holding his .45 auto had been almost torn off his hip. He pulled out the big HK Mark 23 and looked at it. The AK-47 round had slammed into it on the side of the slide, denting it inward a quarter of an inch. He tried to charge a round into the chamber. The slide wouldn't move. He tossed the useless weapon aside. What the hell now? He was really out of ammo. He couldn't go back and get Holt's weapon. He scowled. Then his hand brushed his K-Bar.
Magic left his rifle against a tree, drew his knife, and moved into the denser brush to his right. He found what he wanted, a dead branch on the ground two inches thick, six feet long, and fairly straight. He used his knife to smooth the shank of it, then with some all-purpose tape from his vest, taped his K-Bar on the small end of the branch with the blade extending over the end.
He had a six-foot-long spear.
Magic moved silently through the trees and brush. At one point he saw the general through the brush. He was resting below the rock. Twice he lifted up to look toward where Magic had been on the trail.
Magic stepped gingerly along another twenty feet to the rear, then worked out to the fringe of the brush.
General Umar Maleceia sat on the rock thirty feet away and slightly ahead. The general was too far away for a charge even with Brown's spear. How?
Magic found a fist-sized rock, lifted up, and threw it as far as he could beyond where the general hid. The rock hit some brush and made a racket. The general jolted upright and fired three rounds at the noise. Then he fired again, and the round magazine on the AK-47 ran dry. He threw it away. He drew a handgun and looked around.
One more fist-sized rock slanted out of Magic's hand, and crashed in much the same area. General Maleceia fired five rounds into the brush, and then the revolver ran out of bullets.
Magic moved out of the brush into the open to the edge of a stream bed. He walked silently toward the coup leader. When he was ten feet away he called.
"The party's over, Colonel."
Maleceia turned, surprised. He saw the spear and laughed.
"You, a black man, fighting another black man? Don't be stupid. I can make you rich. We'll hike out of here. I have many friends in this area. We'll find transport, get into Tanzania where I can tap a bank account, and the two of us will live like kings. All the food, drink, and women we want."
"Not a chance," Magic Brown said.
The general snarled, and drew a knife. It was an inch shorter than the K-Bar, but just as deadly.