“…have been doing fine since they joined the squad. Don’t go mother hen on me here. We all know the score when we sign up—hell, you told me that yon night we got pished in the caravan in Norway. That wasnae that long ago, was it? You’re not going soft on me in your auld age, are you?”
He smiled but didn’t get one in reply. Something was bothering Hynd; they’d been friends too long for it to be easily hidden. But that same friendship meant that Banks knew when to speak and when to let it lie. Now was one of the latter times so he shut up and concentrated on his cigarette while looking down over the valley.
The sergeant’s mood still hadn’t improved by late afternoon. Banks joined him for another smoke on the ledge as they watched the sun start its journey down into the west.
Hynd was first to break the silence.
“I miss long, slow evenings, like back home,” he said softly. “Down here, it’s afternoon one minute, night time the next. It’s not natural.”
“You ready for your pipe and slippers, Sarge?” Banks asked but didn’t get the expected laugh in reply.
“Maybe I am, John. Maybe I am at that.”
The sadness in his old friend’s voice left Banks momentarily speechless and then it was too late to reply, for another noise broke the silence, the same loud barking they’d heard on the river. This time, he was able to pinpoint the source more accurately, for it had come from the large basin beyond the town, an insistent, almost rasping sound that was almost immediately answered by another, then another, until the air was full of the cacophony.
The last of the sun faded from the sky and flaming torches were lit throughout the fortified town, soon joining to form a procession winding through the buildings, making for the gate and the row of crucified figures above it.
It’s game time.
- 6 -
Once they got down off the ridge and onto a track that clearly would lead them to the town, Banks had the squad stow their packs under a recognizable tree and cover them with branches.
“Only take two clips of ammo each, lads, we’re going in fast and light. Leave the rest here; this is our backup plan. Everybody remember where we parked.”
The team moved to comply then Hynd brought up the rear again as Banks led them at the double onto the wide trail that led down the center of the valley towards the far end and their destination. The flickering light from the blazing torches showed them the way although at the front the captain had turned on his sight light on his rifle to mark the trail immediately in front of his feet. The rest of the squad padded along silently in his wake.
Hynd still couldn’t shake his feeling that they were heading directly into serious trouble. It was more than just roil and tumble in his gut—he understood pre-battle nerves only too well. This was something else, a heavy, almost overwhelming sense of impending dread that had been with him since their first encounter with the barking noise on the river, as if the sound itself bore physically down on him. The last time he’d felt anything like it had been back in Iraq at the start of the century.
And what a shitstorm that turned out to be.
But there was nothing he could do about it—it wasn’t as if he was going to turn on his heels and run. He tried to use it to his advantage, a heightened sense of watchfulness in the face of danger. So what if he expected an attack at any second? It wasn’t a bad way to keep alive in spots like this.
Ahead of them, the fires of the town burned even brighter in the night sky and a wailing howl rose from the township, too high and pure to be a human voice—Hynd suspected it was some kind of flute, maybe a horn. The sound carried all around the valley in the still night air… and was answered in kind by more barking, rasping calls from the other side of the gated doorway.
What the fuck have they got in there?
As the barking got louder still, so too did the sense of doom grow in his head.
“Cap,” he said, just loud enough for the squad to hear and not caring that he was breaking protocol. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”
Banks brought the squad to a halt and came back to speak to Hynd.
“What’s up, Sarge? Your guts playing up again? Aye, and so are mine. But this is a rescue mission—it’s what we do. If you’ve got any bright ideas, I’m all ears.”
“I suppose taking off and nuking the site from orbit isn’t an option?” Hynd replied with a thin smile.
“Maybe later… first we need to get the WHO folks out if we can. But if you’re not up for it, stay here and watch our backs and we’ll talk about it later?”
Hynd knew that Banks was giving him an out that only a friend would offer. He answered, in kind, as a friend.
“And see you get all the action? Fuck that. Lead on, Cap, and ignore me—I’m just getting to be a daft auld git. I’ll be fine.”
“Like always,” Banks said, and they clasped hands on each other’s forearms before Banks turned and led the squad ahead again.
The short stop hadn’t improved Hynd’s mood any—he was still cowed under an umbrella of doom and now he had embarrassed himself into the bargain.
They continued at double-time along an ever-widening trail, making swift progress as the mud here had been tramped down hard and baked underfoot. Up ahead, the rasping barking, the howl of the horn, and the waving, burning firebrands merged into a cacophony of noise and wash of color that was now joined by a rhythmic beat of hands clapping and stomping of feet. There was a definite sense of something building towards a crescendo.
Banks at the front raised the pace until they were almost running, the huts mere dark shadows to either side of them as they went through an empty town but even then they arrived at the wall too late. The balcony and the crucified captives along with it were being lowered down on the far side of the great doors. Three men on each side operated huge wooden winches on either side of the gate and ropes squealed as the balcony descended. At the same time, the chanting from the crowd rose to a frenzy, only two words now, ones that Hynd had heard before.
Mokele-Mbembe. Mokele-Mbembe.
Something answered on the other side of the wall, a barking roar stronger than any before. Someone screamed high and loud beyond the gate.
“Fuck this for a game of sodjers,” Banks shouted. He raised his rifle muzzle upwards and sent three shots into the air. The echoes rang loud and long around the cleared area in front of the door. The crowd as one turned at the sound.
“Good. Now that I’ve got your attention, fetch those people back up, right now,” Banks shouted and to punctuate the point aimed his weapon at the men operating the right-hand side winch. Hynd raised his own rifle to cover those on the left but none of the men on the winches showed any sign of moving.
Another barking roar came from the far side of the door, followed immediately by high screaming.
“Sarge, take Wilkins and Davies up top—see what you can do to get that rig back up there. Wiggo and I will cover you from down here.”
Hynd motioned to the two younger men and they followed him towards the great door even as an angry-looking crowd formed a semi-circle around where Banks and Wiggo stood, holding them off. A rudimentary set of wooden steps led up each side of the great door, the surface smoothed by many years—possibly centuries—of wear. Hynd took them fast, trusting the other two to follow, expecting an attack from above with every step upward.
No attack came. The six men still stood at the winches, seeming unconcerned by Hynd’s arrival. They all wore thick kilts wrapped at their waists, the material being leather-like but also glistening in colors no cow or deer hide had ever possessed. Hynd pointed his weapon at the exposed belly of the nearest man.