and they are not where we think …”
“I know,” said Sullivan. “We need a better idea of how many other guys we’re dealing with too. Somebody’ll have to take a closer look.”
“I’ll do it,” said Hoyt at once.
Sullivan regarded him with an unreadable expression, then shook his head. “Eddie, Mac told me you’ve got recent experience in jungle infiltration
and
hostage extraction work. Correct?”
“If two years ago counts as recent, then yeah,” Chase replied.
“Think you can get in closer without being seen?”
He gave the encampment another look, judging distances, paths of approach and exit, the movements of the sentries … “Yeah. I can do it.”
“Good man,” said Sullivan. “Hugo, you’re with me—we’ll move down to those rocks there and cover him. The rest of you, stay here and keep watch.”
Lomax, Rios, and Hoyt all nodded, then spread outto positions where they could observe what was happening below—and maintain a clear line of fire. The other three men moved carefully down the slope to the rocks. Castille and Sullivan stopped, watching the tents, as Chase prepared to advance. “Good luck,” Sullivan whispered.
“Fight to the end, Edward,” added Castille.
“Always do,” Chase replied, nodding to his friend before dropping low and moving into the undergrowth. A brief look back: The two men were little more than shadows from a distance of just fifteen feet, the three higher up the slope practically invisible in the darkness and rain. Hiding from the bandits would not be a problem.
Nor would locating them. The man on patrol was making no attempt to conceal himself, the light of his torch standing out clearly, nor was he being all that attentive to his surroundings. The beam spent far more time aimed at the ground ahead of him than sweeping the jungle. Nevertheless, Chase froze once he got close to the approaching sentry’s route.
From his hiding place, lying beneath the drooping branches of a large plant, he watched the man as he passed twenty feet away. The bandit was wearing a long rain cape and a wide-brimmed khaki hat, water streaming off both. From the glimpse of his expression in the torchlight, he was not at all happy to have been assigned sentry duty.
The light also glinted off his shouldered weapon. A Kalashnikov, no surprise there …
But a surprise to Chase was the particular
type
of Kalashnikov. His SAS training had taught him to identify weapons at a glance, and this one’s short barrel revealed it as an AKS-74U, a cut-down version of the AKS-74 assault rifle. It was designed for mobility and easy concealment rather than range and stopping power, and was generally only issued to special forces units. Not the kind of thing normally found in the hands of a jungle bandit. He would have expected something like his own far older AK-47.
He put the thought to the back of his mind as he watched the sentry trudge away, waiting until he was out of sight behind the trees before moving. The man’s patrol route was clear to see, squishy footprints in the mud leading in both directions. Chase raised his head to confirm that the bandit was still retreating, then stood and hopped over the path, keeping his own telltale prints as far from the track as he could. Then he dropped low again and resumed his advance.
Moving slowly and silently, it took him almost five cautious minutes to reach the camp. He peered over a moldering log. Six tents: five small, one large, two of the small ones unlit. Even over the drumming of raindrops on the canvas he could hear the low murmur of conversation. Shadows shifted in some of the shelters, their occupants rendered on the fabric as magic lantern displays.
Chase remained still, gathering intelligence. At least six men in the smaller tents, plus however many were inside the two without lights. The big tent was harder to judge, but he estimated no fewer than another six people within. Assuming that the aid workers were being held
“I know,” said Sullivan. “We need a better idea of how many other guys we’re dealing with too. Somebody’ll have to take a closer look.”
“I’ll do it,” said Hoyt at once.
Sullivan regarded him with an unreadable expression, then shook his head. “Eddie, Mac told me you’ve got recent experience in jungle infiltration
and
hostage extraction work. Correct?”
“If two years ago counts as recent, then yeah,” Chase replied.
“Think you can get in closer without being seen?”
He gave the encampment another look, judging distances, paths of approach and exit, the movements of the sentries … “Yeah. I can do it.”
“Good man,” said Sullivan. “Hugo, you’re with me—we’ll move down to those rocks there and cover him. The rest of you, stay here and keep watch.”
Lomax, Rios, and Hoyt all nodded, then spread outto positions where they could observe what was happening below—and maintain a clear line of fire. The other three men moved carefully down the slope to the rocks. Castille and Sullivan stopped, watching the tents, as Chase prepared to advance. “Good luck,” Sullivan whispered.
“Fight to the end, Edward,” added Castille.
“Always do,” Chase replied, nodding to his friend before dropping low and moving into the undergrowth. A brief look back: The two men were little more than shadows from a distance of just fifteen feet, the three higher up the slope practically invisible in the darkness and rain. Hiding from the bandits would not be a problem.
Nor would locating them. The man on patrol was making no attempt to conceal himself, the light of his torch standing out clearly, nor was he being all that attentive to his surroundings. The beam spent far more time aimed at the ground ahead of him than sweeping the jungle. Nevertheless, Chase froze once he got close to the approaching sentry’s route.
From his hiding place, lying beneath the drooping branches of a large plant, he watched the man as he passed twenty feet away. The bandit was wearing a long rain cape and a wide-brimmed khaki hat, water streaming off both. From the glimpse of his expression in the torchlight, he was not at all happy to have been assigned sentry duty.
The light also glinted off his shouldered weapon. A Kalashnikov, no surprise there …
But a surprise to Chase was the particular
type
of Kalashnikov. His SAS training had taught him to identify weapons at a glance, and this one’s short barrel revealed it as an AKS-74U, a cut-down version of the AKS-74 assault rifle. It was designed for mobility and easy concealment rather than range and stopping power, and was generally only issued to special forces units. Not the kind of thing normally found in the hands of a jungle bandit. He would have expected something like his own far older AK-47.
He put the thought to the back of his mind as he watched the sentry trudge away, waiting until he was out of sight behind the trees before moving. The man’s patrol route was clear to see, squishy footprints in the mud leading in both directions. Chase raised his head to confirm that the bandit was still retreating, then stood and hopped over the path, keeping his own telltale prints as far from the track as he could. Then he dropped low again and resumed his advance.
Moving slowly and silently, it took him almost five cautious minutes to reach the camp. He peered over a moldering log. Six tents: five small, one large, two of the small ones unlit. Even over the drumming of raindrops on the canvas he could hear the low murmur of conversation. Shadows shifted in some of the shelters, their occupants rendered on the fabric as magic lantern displays.
Chase remained still, gathering intelligence. At least six men in the smaller tents, plus however many were inside the two without lights. The big tent was harder to judge, but he estimated no fewer than another six people within. Assuming that the aid workers were being held
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