Chapter Three

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We pushed on for nearly four hours after leaving the stream without stopping. Although the day was very hot, the shade of the giant trees protected us from the scorching rays of the sun. I decided I would have to call for a break in another thirty minutes, and just then, I had an intuitive premonition that we were being watched. Though the feeling had kept prodding at me for quite a while, I had assured myself that we were alone in the bush, and hardly had I taken my mind off it when George, who was leading the way, stopped abruptly and announced that he had a feeling that we were not alone.

George's warning confirmed my suspicion, and we spontaneously left the trail and took cover behind the surrounding thicket. Lydia just kept on walking, even though one of the men had shouted out to her. She didn't bother to reckon with us—until the first shot came from the bush-combers who were already lying in ambush for us. It was amusing how she had run into the bush for cover, like a threatened squirrel, and I wondered why she had not sensed the danger earlier. Perhaps she was still dazed by Legion's approval of my leadership.

I took my attention off her and began to make out the positions of our assailants . . . and was astonished to realize that they were closer than I had imagined. I thought about contacting Legion to let him know we were under attack, but on second thought, I decided it wasn't necessary. He might not believe me, and to reach Lydia, who could confirm it, was practically impossible since she ran in the other direction. A moment later, George slipped to my side while I was making up my mind about contacting Legion.

"What do we do?" he asked, his voice unsteady, and I also noticed that he was getting panicky. I knew he wasn't afraid of the situation, but rather of his kids' fate if the mission failed.

"What are we going to do?" he repeated with his face becoming more tense.

"I heard you, but I haven't decided yet," I returned tersely after a brief silence.

"You're not thinking about calling that creep, are you?"

"Why should I? Do you think I'm dumb?" I replied as he nodded his approval.

"But, Mike, what do we do?" he asked again with a worried note in his voice.

"Fight them, of course," I answered shortly. He took a sharp look at me, unsure he had heard correctly.

"Fight, you said?" he asked doubtfully, and I nodded, ignoring his reaction.

"Are you out of your mind? There could be more than a dozen of them out here," he said with an expressive wave of his hand as we crouched down behind the safety of the thicket, and I gave him my well, what do you think? expression.

"Come on, Mike," he went on pleadingly, "we could at least ask them what they want."

"I won't stop you," I returned airily. "Go ahead and ask them," I said jeeringly.

"Be serious for once, Mike. You know we can't take this bunch."

"But we can always try, can't we?" I asked with the jeering grin still on my lips.

"Try?"

"That's what I said."

"All right, you're in charge; handle it the way you deem fit," he conceded, looking crestfallen.

"Don't worry," I returned. "Have you forgotten we've gotten around a number of obstacles in the past?" I asked. "I'm sure we can get around this one too," I said and gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

Shortly afterward, the men shot several times again as two of Legion's men broke their covers in an attempt to reach us.

"Jesus!" George exclaimed. "These guys aren't playing," he said as he pulled out his gun and leveled himself on the ground.

"I thought you were going to ask them what they wanted, or have you suddenly changed your mind?" I asked and smiled as I saw him ready for combat.

"Well, you said we could try, didn't you?" he beamed.

"You damn right, we can," I returned and went on. "You move to that end," I pointed, "and shoot toward that direction when I say so. I want to see where they're hiding," I said, looking at the line of bushes some twenty-two yards away.

By the time I was through with instructing George, the two men had finally reached us, their faces somewhat tight and void of any emotions. Though they had picked their way cautiously, I couldn't tell for certain if they hadn't given our hiding place away. Well, what does it matter? I thought. They will know when the battle starts.

"You follow George," I told one of the men as they got closer, "and you stay with me. Where's the third man?" I asked.

"Over there," he pointed. "If he makes any move, it'll be his funeral," he added with a mirthless grin on his lips.

"All right," I said with a wave of my hand, irritated by his unwarranted comment and nonchalant attitude. I saw the third man was barely covered and would be exposed to gunshots if he tried to reach us. I told him what I had asked George to do, and as he goes with me, he should find a way to let the third man know that we were going to fight.

I didn't fancy it was a good option, and I guessed I've got it coming after all that silly row with Lydia at the stream, but they had left us no other choice, since they had started shooting. When George and the guy with him fired as I had instructed, gunshots reverberated through the bush as the men fired back at them. That gave me enough time to take a better position, and as I ran, some shots were directed at me too. However, I had anticipated that and had promptly taken cover behind the very shrub I wanted to reach.

I paused for a while, and then when I found an opening, I made a swift dive, and that left two of their men at my mercy. Before they began to shoot, I shot both of them in the legs with two rapid shots. They cowered instantly and fell down, wriggling in pain. I didn't think it was necessary to kill anyone unless it was absolutely unavoidable. I had thought that if we could bring down as many of them as was possible, that should persuade them to retreat or slow their advance and we might just as well seize the opportunity to run away as we did the previous day when we saw the bandits. My action must have spurred on the guy I told to stay with me; he had been dumb enough to have run out the same way without caution, and he had barely taken a few steps before a bullet cut him down.

Shortly afterward, the leader of the bush-combers yelled with a bullhorn that we should come out with our hands over our heads. A minute later, Lydia ran out blindly from her cover and began to shoot aimlessly as if the man's words had propelled her into a furious and senseless action. George was quick to notice the danger; he made a swift move and started firing too, so as to attract more of the combers' attention. I ran out immediately and dived for Lydia, and almost got hit in the process as I felt a bullet whiz past my right ear. I didn't know why I had done that, but it was rather more of an instinct than a need to save her life.

"Are you crazy? Do you want to get yourself killed?" I barked at her.

"Why should you care?" she returned roughly. I had expected a fight as I held her to the ground with my chin in the furrow between her breasts, but to my surprise, she didn't. She just shoved me off her body, got up on her knees, and asked me to leave her alone, and I did. I tried to sit up too, but found I had injured my left arm. I asked her to help me get up, and she did with exaggerated care. However, while she was helping me up, we heard a shrill sound, followed by a blinding explosion that sent us reeling to the ground again.

"Jesus!" I exclaimed, as I instantly got up on my knees, ignoring the sudden sharp pain I felt in my injured arm.

I looked around and couldn't see George or the other two men, and I wondered what could have happened to them. Though Lydia and I were extremely lucky that the grenade had landed several yards away, as we didn't see it coming, the effect of the explosion had left us dazed for some moments. I began to dust off sand out of my hair and off my shirt as I sat on my heels, and earnestly wondered what they wanted with us that could have led them throwing hand grenades.

"Do you still have your gun?" I asked Lydia as she got up holding the back of her neck and still slightly dazed. "I guess I must have dropped mine."

"Yes," she returned, "and that's yours over there." She pointed.

I crawled over to where the gun was, scooped it up, and retraced my steps to where I left her. Just then, I heard the voice again stating that we should come out with our hands over our heads, and I was about to tell the man to go roast himself in hell for good, when we heard George's voice that Lydia and I should come out, and that the fight was over. For a split second, I felt deafened as hot blood ran up my ears and seemed to have blocked them. All I could hear was a low drone sound. To think straight was impossible, and I almost thought I was dying. I just stared into space and couldn't even blink my eyes or see anything.

After a while, the attack stopped as abruptly as it came, and I wondered why I had felt such a terrible condition. It had never happened before, not even when I was in active service many years back. However, I consoled myself that it had to be the explosion and the fact that for many years after the war, I hadn't come close to such violence.

I thought over the situation and decided that the fight was definitely over as George had said. But what I couldn't figure out was what they actually wanted with us. Lydia pulled me down as I tried to stand up, and just then, I remembered that she was with me. I scowled as I looked down at her, but she told me we would have to fight on.

"This is no time to play foolhardiness," I said curtly, irritated by her bluntness. "They have gotten hold of George and possibly the other two, so you see—"

"We should fight on," she interrupted woodenly. "The others don't matter," she said blinking her eyes viciously and menacingly too.

"But they do," I returned impatiently. I was in no mood to drag words with her. The bomb attack had already stretched my nerves, and I thought if she continued to be difficult, I would have to do something about her myself; perhaps tap her on the head and drag her out of the bush.

"Well, you have to understand," I continued after a while with all the patience I could summon, "it would be absolutely senseless and ridiculous to go on fighting; those lads seemed trigger-happy and could be drunk. Given a motive to start shooting again, they'll cut us down sooner than you can imagine."

"How are you sure they wouldn't still do that after we've surrendered?" she asked doubtfully as she held her gun firmly and kept staring at me dubiously.

"There is that," I went on, still patient but irritated the more as I watched her closely. "I guess that's a chance we must take; don't forget we are heavily outnumbered, and they are loaded with grenades, which they could easily have used if they wanted us dead that bad."

She stood still for a while, and I could almost hear her think. Then she suddenly said I should go ahead and give up if I wanted to, but that she would remain where she was and fight on if that's what they wanted. I thought that was it, and in my fury, I had wished I could bring myself to pull the trigger of my gun and smear her brains over her face, when George's voice cut through the otherwise still air again. He specifically addressed Lydia, guessing she could be the reason why we were still hiding behind the bushes.

"I'm sure you have nothing against George and his kids," I said quietly to her when George had finished. "George isn't a weakling; make no mistake about that, and but for his kids, he would definitely have wished us to fight on," I drawled, and as I couldn't stand her any longer, I left her and shouted to the bush-combers that I was on my way out.

As soon as I left the cover of the bush, three men pounced on me and instantly seized my gun and began to bind my arms together as they had already done to George and the other two. I flinched and cursed as the cord bit into my skin, but their leader was on hand to reiterate with a mocking smile that it was nothing compared to what would happen to us when we arrived at their base as he pointed to five men lying injured on the ground with bullet wounds, while three of their men attended to them hastily. I had wanted to tell him that we had also lost a man in the senseless encounter, but I declined. It wasn't an appropriate situation to haggle words with him, I reasoned. I wouldn't want to infuriate him any more than was necessary as he persistently yelled that Lydia should come out.

I watched him as his chest rose and fell while the muscles around his neck stretched and tightened whenever he yelled into the bullhorn. He and all his men were dressed in faded camouflage uniforms and dirty, old, brown boots. Though he was tall and lean, he had unusually wide shoulders and a body that stood solidly on rather long, thin legs. The small head on his shoulders that were also unusually hedged up gave him a look of gross mismatch, and when he brought down the bullhorn from his face, the cruel grin that broke out on his dry, thin lips would certainly have made a hyena envious.

Lydia finally came out after a long while with her gun raised over her head. One of the men instantly went for her, snatched her gun, and shoved her forward. She cursed and hissed, but obviously she knew she was in no position to retaliate to such treatment. The men paid her little or no attention at first as she raved wildly while her arms were being bound, but as I later watched her flinch when they suddenly pushed her viciously down on her knees, I felt furious myself. They needn't be that hard on her, I thought, but there was nothing I could do about it. Moreover, she should have known that her rash reactions was not helping the situation.

When they had satisfactorily bound our hands, they made us stand in a row and marched us on. The leader and two men led the way, while the rest and the injured men brought up the rear. Legion's man that was shot dead was buried in a shallow grave, hurriedly dug by the men. That was the least they could do for him as impatient vultures had already begun to perch on some of the tall trees. However, George had told me later on, in a whisper, that it wouldn't be long before hyenas dug him out.

The other two men who had been lucky still held their faces deadpan, and I wondered how long it would be before they called off the act. It seemed to them that nothing serious had actually happened to us, and the situation might as well be one way or the other for all they cared. George was a poor sight, and I felt sorrier for him than I did for the rest of us. I reckoned he was probably wondering what would happen to his kids when the news eventually got to Legion that we've been caught or perhaps killed.

Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived at their station, and I was astonished to find that we had been so close to a military base without George or Lydia knowing it. The station looked extremely remote and desolate in spite of the modern military equipment littering around the whole grounds. Although Legion's rebel-looking outfit was shades better, there was no perimeter fence enclosing the various buildings scattered around, and the locals living within gave it a rather open appearance. They seemed unperturbed by the presence of the soldiers as they went about with their business.

It couldn't have been a permanent base, I thought, as I took in the details of the setup. It seemed they were on the move but decided to settle there for a while, or perhaps they were there to accomplish a particular aim, obviously, mischievous. George had said the country wasn't in good shape, and anything could happen anywhere. However, in spite of the station's remoteness, it still commanded astonishing authority and loyalty, and the way the officers and men went about their duties, exuded surprising efficiency.

We were ordered to stand in a row in front of a large ranch house set aside from the others like the builder after-thought. Suddenly, a man appeared with two armed men following behind him. He wore a green beret on his balding head, a camouflage jacket, and blue jeans with a pair of old black boots. He stood majestically before us like an impatient judge anxious to hand down his verdict on the guilty culprits. The leader of the bush-combers had called him sarge as he saluted, and he looked as tough as he could be. Instantly, I knew we had some serious trouble coming our way, and I hoped Lydia would have her head screwed on the right way as she had done since we left the bush.

He was heavily built, and his shoulders were noticeably square, but he was slightly below average height. He had keen, sharp eyes that more often than not made him look like a wildcat. He had short, lank auburn hair, and his face appeared rigid with thick eyebrows, a Roman nose, heavy cheeks, a bristling thin line of mustache, which had begun to gray, and a very determined jaw. His mouth was unusually wide, that I wondered if years of shouting orders hadn't been the cause. He held a brown, rubber baton with a black rope looped through its handle and strapped around his wrist. He hit his leg with the baton each time he spoke, as if by so doing, he would have succeeded in hammering the words into the heads of his audience.

"I don't care to know what you were looking for in the bush with dangerous weapons," he began abruptly in a strident and shrill voice, his Dutch accent unmistakable. "What I do know is that you were upsetting the peace of innocent villagers, and you have also injured several of the state's patrolmen, which is a grievous offence in this country," he stated gravely, pausing to look us over as he walked round the row. Then he paused in front of Lydia and a surprised expression broke out on his rigid face as if he had just noticed her.

"You!" he pointed with a short, plump finger. "What were you doing in the bush with these fools?" he asked grimly waving toward the rest of us.

Lydia gave no answer; she kept staring at him, her black, sharp eyes brooding; her mouth a hard line, and her face stony.

"Didn't you hear me, or are you deaf and dumb?" he barked at her, and then I decided to take the initiative before the situation got out of hand.

"Well, sir," I volunteered amiably, "I'm the leader and would be pleased to answer your questions," I said with a straight face. I had hoped to persuade whoever would question us to direct the questions to me, having resolved on a number of possible tales I would feed them with.

"Well! Well! Well!" he grinned, sneering, as he took his attention off Lydia and stared balefully at me, but I still kept my face straight.

"So, you are the leader of these bandits?" he asked incredulously after a brief pause. I detested being called a bandit; however, I said nothing but stared right back into his eyes and only managed to keep out the fury that was coming into my own eyes.

"What if I told you I'm not interested in asking you any questions?" he went on. "I'm sure the lady understands me and should be able to answer my questions," he stated flatly.

"Well, she's been given orders not to answer questions unless I say so," I returned, a little curtly just to make life a bit difficult for him too. However, Lydia and the rest couldn't help turning sharply to look at me as I spoke, but common sense warned them to remain mute.

"My good Lord, you American boys again?" he grinned bitterly after a long while, and I saw he was struggling to control the anger that threatened to surge over him, but I remained calm and kept my straight face in place.

"So she was ordered by your highly esteemed authority to stay dumb?" he grunted with heavy sarcasm in his voice, and I gave him my best well, that's the way it is expression. He stared hard at me for a while and said nothing.

Suddenly, he looked bored, like a tired dog that had been overfed and would rather sleep than answer its master's call, and I genuinely felt that the whole task and the effort he was putting into it was rather too much for his age. He brought out a cigarette case, lit one, and dragged in the smoke as deep as he could before he puffed it out into my face.

"All right you," he said, nodding as he poked my chest fiercely with his short, fat finger, "what the hell were you doing in the bush with guns?" he asked heatedly, glaring at me as if he had found renewed strength in the smoke. I hadn't battered my head for nothing. I expeditiously launched into an exploration story, but by the look on his face, I knew he wasn't going to be taken in that easy, but I still went ahead and ended it the way I wanted, not give a fig whether he would take it or not.

"Do you expect me to believe such a load of old codswallop?" he asked eventually after a brief silence with his sharp eyes fixed on mine. I stared back at him, my face rigid, and my eyes burning with fury. Shortly afterward, I followed his gaze as it rested on Lydia again; there was a faraway look in her eyes, and she was absolutely indifferent to the situation on hand. She looked so benign that I wondered why she often had those moments of unpleasant temperaments at the slightest provocation.

"Do you think I'm that crazy to accept such a stupid story?" he repeated suddenly, averting his gaze from Lydia. I stared back at him as well with a blank expression on my face. He held the collar of my shirt, scowling as he thrust me forward.

"I said, do you expect me to believe such a load of bollocks?" he snarled, as if he expected me to do something to make him believe my story. After a while, he let go of my shirt as abruptly as he had held it. He took two strides and stood before Lydia again.

The faraway look in her eyes had gone, but she kept her face expressionless, and I knew that as far as she was concerned, the sergeant could go to hell for all she cared. He quickly realized he would be wasting his time if he thought he could get anything from her, so he soon left her alone but not before he had given her a shove that sent her reeling. However, she kept her peace, and I couldn't help wondering if she wasn't the same Lydia who had wanted to fight to the finish an hour or so back in the bush.

The sergeant moved on and stood before George, and as he stood staring at him with professional interest rather than sympathy, a military Jeep pulled up a few yards away. The four men in it spilled out, looking bored and exhausted. Three of them entered the building, and the men around stiffened and saluted as they passed. The fourth man stood hesitating as he looked around, and then he stopped two young soldiers and began to give orders to them.

The sergeant seemed more frightened and attentive than the two boys who were actually addressed, and I also noticed that the leader of the bush-combers, who had all along been having a spree time with a sinister grin on his awkward lips as he watched the sergeant bully and harassed us, had suddenly become nervous with a worried frown on his sweat-drenched face. I was sure that he would have swiftly ducked out of the scene if he had had his way.

The man dismissed the two boys and moved toward us. The sergeant stiffened and saluted as he arrived, while the leader of the bush-combers nearly dropped his rifle in anxiety, and I wondered what it was with the man that had him feeling so fidgety, or perhaps he was just being ridiculously asinine, because the man looked rather more composed than his loud, despotic sergeant.

"What's up, sarge?" he asked, staring at us calmly but seriously too.

He was wearing a navy-blue shirt and some deep brown cotton pants with a pair of brown shoes. He was tall, square shouldered, with a solid build, a man who possessed serious, hard, penetrating eyes and a strong jaw line. His oval face had a thin line of sideburns running down his chin and ended at his hard thin lips. He couldn't have been more than thirty-eight years of age, and he exuded an outstanding firmness and confidence that should certainly tell anyone that he was indeed a tough soldier. However, there was this mild aura about him that also tells one that he wasn't the ruthless type. But, I warned myself that he could just be as difficult as the sergeant was trying to be.

"Sir, I found these bastards totting automatic guns and upsetting local women in the bush," the sergeant drawled with a wave of his hand, as if he needed to search for the right words.

"Is that right?" the man intoned, genuinely amused as he stared at us with his hands clasped behind him. Suddenly, I saw his face begin to tighten as he stared intently at George, and I wondered what was coming next.

"George!" he screamed suddenly, his face loosening and brightened up. I couldn't help looking on agape as his outburst caught us unaware. He moved closer to George, took one of his hands, and raised it up. It was as if he was thoroughly examining him in order to convince himself he wasn't someone else.

"For God's sake!" he exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were dead, and what happened to your face?" he asked, all in a rush as he dropped his hand.

"I'm still alive, Steve," George returned calmly.

"Keep shut!" the sergeant snarled. "He's Lieutenant Colonel Stephen Anderson and should be addressed as Colonel."

"It's all right, sarge," the officer scowled at him. "You may go now with your men. I'll handle this."

The Sergeant saluted and dragged himself out of sight, embittered that he wasn't allowed the full benefit to throw his weight about, and I thought what an overzealous funny clown he really was. The leader of the bush-combers had been more than pleased to take his leave. His face had brightened a bit when the colonel said they could depart, and he had been somewhat irritated that the sergeant should be hesitating and wanted to linger longer than was needed.

"I thought you've been killed at . . ." the colonel said shortly afterward but broke off almost immediately as he threw a furtive glance at the rest of us. It was as if he had just noticed we were there.

"Who are these?" he asked George, waving at us.

"Well, should I say, friends?" George answered without much enthusiasm.

"Yes, you can say anything," he returned, gripping his hands and hugging him at the same time. After holding him for a few seconds, he stood back but still held his hand and looked him over once more.

"When I was told that Sammy's corpse was picked up at the island," he went on after a brief pause and let go of his hands, "and yours wasn't found there, I had thought you had gotten yourself drowned, but I guess you had managed to get away," he concluded amusingly.

"It was a lucky break," George remarked succinctly.

"I bet it was," he said, smiling and clasping his hands again. "All right, you guys, feel at home," he said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, "though, don't expect this place to be much of a home," he added unnecessarily with an expressive wave of his hands. "And come and tell me what this is all about," he said to George, as he beckoned to two uniformed men and asked them to cut us loose and lead the rest of us to guesthouse "A". I couldn't possibly stop that nor do anything about it. I had hoped that George would use his discretion to handle the situation, and moreover, I didn't know how friendly they were or what had brought them into their friendship.