David Golemon - Ancients

The other five men were standing in a loose circle around the Ethiopian camp. Again, the large leader shook the young black student and shouted a question. Her tearful eyes never left the hovering machete as she cringed at the pressure on her neck. As the man lifted the machete above her head, she suddenly screamed out an answer. The other students, made up of half male and half female, shouted out and cried in support of the girl. As the leader let off the pressure on the girl's neck, she straightened and spit blood in the man's face. The man spit back as the girl screamed out a long blast of profanities at him.

"Dammit, they're going to kill those kids, Jack," Everett said from a small knoll where he and Collins had stationed themselves. "Who are these bastards?"

"I think they're Sudanese. It sounds like they're speaking Dinka."

"Dinka or pig latin, doesn't matter, Jack--we have to move. That girl's just about the bravest kid I've ever seen."

"Easy, Carl. This asshole has a purpose in mind. This isn't a normal crash and raid," Jack answered softly. "Look at those men: they're looking for something specific," he said as he pushed back from the rim of the knoll and lay on his back in the cooling evening.

"Our own team is here for, what, some speculation about an ancient flood washing up artifacts in the Nile basin?"

"Yeah, that's what the predig report stated. Why, what are you thinking?"

"It's just strange that these ass-bites don't look like they would know the difference between Tupperware and a Ming vase. They want something they know could possibly be here ... or maybe in the American camp. Either way, you're right, we have to do something about this. Our people won't be ready to go soon enough, so it's deal with them here or deal with them with our people on the line."

Everett nodded as Jack slid back down the knoll, and he followed. He knew that Collins was just using the American field team as an excuse to get these murdering bastards now, and he wasn't about to let those kids get killed down there. That's what he liked about the colonel. When right was right, the "book" went right out of the nearest window.

"And what do I do as you guys risk your life, sit here and mind the boat?" Ryan asked incredulously as Jack finished his hastily planned rescue.

"No, Mr. Ryan, you're the most important part," Jack said as he reached into the boat and brought up the boom box and thrust it at the naval man. "Pick some appropriate music and cause a stir on the river and just get their attention. Without a distraction our little raid will end up like the St. Valentine's Day massacre."

"And when I get their attention?"

"Then you're welcome to improvise, Mr. Ryan," Jack said as he, Mendenhall, and Everett hopped over the side of the boat and made their way stealthily back to the small ridge. Then he held up his right hand with three fingers raised: three minutes until they would need the distraction on the river.

Jason Ryan watched them leave, then shook his head and hoped that he improvised just a little faster than those mercenaries with the automatic rifles did. Jesus, he thought, all this just hours after a celebratory drinking binge . Ryan loved his job and the men he worked for; besides, where else could you kick ass on bad people before dinnertime?

Once they were in place on the knoll above the Ethiopian encampment, Jack removed a small knife and extended the blade. He looked from Everett to Mendenhall and then nodded.

"Don't be late, guys. When you see me move, take out the fastest-reacting threat elements. I would say the ones shooting at me would be a good start."

"Jack, I don't mind telling you that this plan is a little risky. I mean, depending on two men who have just a tad more alcohol than the legal limit in them to hit moving targets, well--" He let the statement fall off.

"Not up to it, swabby?"

"You know, Jack, since the president promoted me two ranks, I officially outrank you?"

"Read the small print, swabby, me boss, you little man: when you take over, you can take all the risk."

"He's right, Colonel, you're taking a knife into a gunfight--"

The stern look from Collins made Mendenhall close his mouth quickly.

"We don't let children die when we're around. No diplomacy and no red tape, clear?" he said as he looked from man to man.

Both nodded.

Down below in the camp, the search continued for whatever it was the mercenaries were looking for. The students were cowering against one another, and the African leader was still holding the small woman by the throat, only by now he had stopped shaking her. Just as Jack was about to move off to the far side of the encampment, from which he would make the initial strike, there was a ringing coming from the vicinity of the leader. As they watched, the large man dropped the woman and she sprawled to the sand and just lay there holding her throat. He reached into his vest and brought out a cell phone. Everett strained, trying to listen.

"Yes?" the man said in English.

Everett slowly brought back the slide of his Beretta and chambered a round as he listened.

"Nothing like you described. I'll take pictures on my phone and send them to you. How am I to know the period of the piece if found?"

Everett turned to Will and whispered, "Whatever happens, we try and get that cell phone, we may just have gotten a break in finding out who's paying this dickhead."

Mendenhall nodded as he clicked off the safety of his 9-millimeter and took aim on the man nearest the students who held an AK-47.

The leader angrily slammed his cell phone shut and pocketed it. Then he screamed a question at the cowering woman at his feet as he slowly raised his machete. Everett had just taken aim but he held his fire, per his orders, and forced himself to lower his weapon.

The leader got a strange look on his face as he looked at the river. He tilted his head, listening, and then gestured for two of his men to move toward a thumping noise coming from the water.

"Oh, shit," Mendenhall said as he looked at the Nile and saw the diversion Ryan was attempting to pull off.

"Un-fucking believable," was all Everett could say.

The loud sound of the motor was nothing compared to the amplified music emanating from the boom box that Ryan had fixed with wire to the tarp support. The 1970s band the Eagles blared out their hit "Take It Easy" as Ryan tied off the steering wheel and placed the boat in a slow circling spin in front of the Ethiopian encampment. All eyes were on the small, shirtless man in Bermuda shorts standing on top of the boat's awning with his arms splayed before him as he balanced himself as if he were surfing the boat. It spun crazily in the river to the sound of the rhythmic song written about hitchhiking through Arizona. The former naval F-14 Tomcat pilot had lost nothing of his sense of the dramatic since joining the Group. He was still just as crazy as the men who had recruited him.

The mercenaries were stunned by the sight. This American fool was obviously drunk and playing games with them.

"Shoot him!" the leader screamed out in Dinka as he brought the machete back up to strike the cowering girl.

Before the man could act on his murderous thrust toward the prone woman, something burst from the brush and slammed into the Sudanese leader. Jack brought down the small pocketknife with tremendous force directly into the man's neck. The blow immediately froze the machete in midair. Once the killer started to fall, Jack turned and threw the knife at the nearest armed man he saw. The knife, though not a lethal blow, struck the merc in the chest just below the collarbone, but it caused enough injury and shock that the man dropped his weapon.

On the river, Ryan heard the first distinctive AK-47 reports coming from shore and had the audacity to continue balancing himself for a moment on the boat's tarpaulin cover. Then, with the better part of the show over-- his part, anyway--he grabbed the steel frame and flipped over the top and into the boat just as 7.62-millimeter rounds started striking the wooden boat. As Ryan struggled with the knotted line on the steering wheel, a sharp crack severed it and knocked it from his hands. After suddenly discovering that he had control of the boat again, he jammed the throttle to its stops. All the while, the Eagles continued to play loudly, drowning out the shouts and curses of the mercenaries onshore.