"Come on, nigger," Maleceia said. "Know you hate that name, but you're just a nigger used to taking commands from the white trash over you. I don't see you with any officer's bars on your shoulder. Just a poor little nigger boy working for the massa."
Magic walked forward, the spear in front of him. "You just killed one of my best friends, you bastard. You want to die slow or fast?"
Maleceia held the knife in front the way a fencer would, with the point aimed forward so he could stab or slice either up, down, or sideways.
"Come and get me."
Magic moved closer. He took a swing with the spear at the big man, who stepped back. Magic feinted one way, then drove ahead the other way, and the sharp K-Bar cut a groove a half inch deep along the general's left arm.
"Bastard! I told you I'd make you rich. What else do you want?"
"Everything you own, all the account numbers in Tanzania."
"Said I'd make you rich, not that I'm stupid. I give you the numbers and you kill me anyway."
"Probably. You're not in a good bargaining position." Magic darted forward again, stabbed, missed, sliced, and drew blood from a cut across the big man's chest. Blood soaked his shirt. He glared at Magic, turned the knife, and held it by the blade.
Magic drove in before the general could throw it. The K-Bar on the end of the lance jabbed again, dug into the general's right forearm, and came out leaving a smear of blood.
General Maleceia screamed in fury. He charged.
The move caught Magic by surprise. He backed up a step, sliced at the man's torso, missed, then spun the limb so he held it like a staff, and slammed the large end of it against Maleceia's left arm. He could hear a bone snap. The general growled in pain and came forward again, his right arm back to throw the knife.
Magic dove to the ground with the staff crossways in front of him, came to his feet, and swung the staff like a baseball bat. The wood on the knife end hit the general in the right leg, smashing the leg sideways, and the general went down.
Magic saw the hand go back. He darted to the side, then back, and the thrown knife sailed past him, missing by two feet.
The big black SEAL moved in slowly on the fallen general. The man held up both hands, but must have known they would be little defense.
Suddenly Magic was tired. Tired of the chase, tired of the man's insults, tired of seeing his buddies killed. He leaped forward, wielding the spear like a long knife. He slashed it at the general's chest. The Kenyan ducked, and the blade bit into his neck, severing one carotid artery and his jugular vein.
Magic continued the swing of the blade, reversed it, brought it back, and with both hands on the shank, drove the big blade deeply into Maleceia's heart.
Magic dropped to one knee. He panted. Blood spurted from the general's neck wound for a few seconds, then stopped. The general's uniform was starkly red. His eyes stared unseeing at the small clouds drifting past the sun.
The black SEAL touched his mike. "L-T, clear down here. The general is dead."
Murdock slumped down beside Red Nicholson's body. "Good, Magic. Reverse up the trail to where we left Red." The dead man would be going out with the rest of the SEALS. Almost never did a dead SEAL get left on the battlefield. The general was down, their main mission over. He wondered how DeWitt had fared.
"DeWitt, what's happening over there?"
"Yeah, Murdock. We nailed one of them. The other one is so damn sneaky we can't find him. Just melted into the brush somewhere."
"Don't sweat it, get back to the trail. We need to find a space open enough for our chopper. Get back to the main trail, and we'll hook up. Watch for an LZ."
Holt came out of the brush a few minutes later. He carried his sub-gun in his right hand. His left arm hung at his side and pain etched his face.
"Damn sorry, L-T. Tripped over something running flat out."
"Happens. Can you work your magic box?"
"Oh, yeah. Heard the general is wasted. Good. Magic did it, knew he could."
"Kick up the antenna and let's try the tac band for the carrier. She still the Rover?"
"That's a Roger."
Holt opened the radio cover, and set up the antenna to align it with the Milstar satellite orbiting at 22,300 miles above the earth in a synchronous journey around the equator. It might not matter, but he aligned it anyway.
"Rover, this is Murdock, can you copy?"
There were some pops and whines out of the set; then the voice came over the small speaker.
"Murdock, this is Rover."
"We're ready for that pickup. We're ten to twelve miles, maybe more, northwest of Nairobi in some hills. We'll use flares when we hear the bird. Two hours? I have 1715."
"Yes, two hours. Be dark by then, Murdock. Spot an LZ with small fires if you can. Any enemy action expected?"
"No, Rover. Mission accomplished on the papa bear. We lost one Kenyan soldier, but he's probably still running. We'll find an LZ."
Magic came up the trail and dropped beside Nicholson. He shook his head. "Damn, never should have happened. Red stayed on point too fucking long."
"Wouldn't let anybody else walk it," Holt said.
"Yeah, we should have out-muscled him," Magic said. "Goddamn it to Hell. Damn lousy fucking way to die."
They moved up the trail they had used since leaving the rock house. Magic picked up Nicholson in a fireman's carry and marched up the trail without a word.
By the time they found DeWitt and his men, they were less than a quarter of a mile from the rock house. DeWitt suggested they use the open spot in front of it for the LZ. Murdock agreed.
They hiked to the rock house and checked. The cleared spot in front was more than big enough for a safe landing.
DeWitt put two men to gathering up dry grass, twigs, and larger limbs they could use to light for signal fires when they heard the chopper. They laid four fires at the sides of the LZ, and waited for the signal to light them.
Doc looked at the men who had been injured or shot since he saw them last. He put a wooden splint on Holt's left arm and gave him a pain shot.
Murdock sent Ching and Bishop down the road to find Ronson. "See how close you can find a good LZ down there," Murdock said. He gave them two flares and one more WP grenade. "We'll get picked up here, then go down for you there. We shouldn't have any trouble finding the truck where Lincoln and Quinley are. Just be a matter of spotting an LZ down there." The two took off hiking down the road.
"Who has any ammo left?" Murdock asked the men who had flaked out on the ground. "I've got about half a magazine. Anybody else?"
Three more men had a few rounds. Murdock set them on the perimeter facing outward. "Let's have a little fucking security here," he said.
It was dark and 1922 when they heard the big chopper. DeWitt's men lit the four fires, and blew them into flames. Soon they burned brightly. The big bird made one pass, then dropped down and sent a tornado of dust and debris at the men as it settled on the ground. The big chopper blew out two of the fires. The men stomped out the last two, carried Red Nicholson to the bird, and laid him gently on the floor.
Murdock called on the Motorola, but couldn't raise Magic Brown. They all climbed on board, the bird took off, and traced the road with a searchlight.
Murdock tried again, and Brown came in scratchy but readable.
"Yeah, Bird. About a quarter of a mile more. Good LZ on the left. I'll put up a flare." They landed, and brought in Horse and the two others.
Ten minutes later, they found Lincoln and Quinley by the Kenyan truck, picked them up, and headed home.
The pilot told Murdock they might not have enough juice to get all the way to the carrier. She was supposed to steam within four miles of the coast to cut down on flight time.
"We're pushing the limit in this baby even without all the hardware," the pilot told Murdock.