Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Congo

Wiggins dropped back, Davies and Wilkins having already joined the captain at the rear. The captain hadn’t said what he’d seen that had got him so spooked but Hynd knew it was bad; he’d seen it in his friend’s face. And they all heard the roar and bellow from behind. Whatever was after them sounded big and pissed off.

He noticed that the dark-haired Frenchman wasn’t with his group. He had fallen back and taken up at the side of young Wilkins. Debs saw him looking.

“Looks like someone’s made a conquest,” she said with a laugh. Hynd didn’t have any time to consider the implications of the remark as a fresh roar shook the trees.

“You heard the man,” Hynd shouted. “Arseholes and elbows. Get a fucking move on.”

Without waiting to see if anyone would follow, he broke into a run heading for the high ridge and the descent to the river beyond.

He only looked back once, after making the crossing of the ridge and when he reckoned he had gone almost halfway to the canoes. Debs ran almost at his side, loping along with the practiced gait of a seasoned runner; she looked good for miles yet. The others of her team weren’t doing so well, and the three of them were strung across a span of fifty yards. The rest of the squad and the black-haired doctor were almost down to walking speed at the rear, trying to move the stragglers along faster.

Another roar came, and Hynd looked further back down the trail. Something big was coming. He saw its effect on the foliage more than the thing itself but if it was another raptor, it was by far the largest yet.

“Come on,” he shouted. “I can almost see the canoes. One last push and we’re home free.”

They were far from home and far from free.

But they don’t know that. Yet.

He reached the riverbank just ahead of Debs and headed straight for where they’d stowed the canoes, dragging one from under the canopy.

“Get these in the water,” he said, “and get your people into them, three in one, two in the other.”

“Yes, Sarge,” she said, giving him a mock salute. “But I’m in yours. You’re not getting out of my sight.”

“Fine by me, lass,” he replied.

The first of the WHO team came over the top of the bank seconds later, then it was mayhem for a minute as the rest arrived, were allocated a seat, and Hynd tried to stop them all fleeing before everyone had got into a canoe. Private Davies was the first of the squad to show up, coming over the banking at a flat run.

“It’s going to be close,” he said.

“Get in the first canoe,” Hynd said to him, “And get it out into the river. Cover the rest of us from there.”

The three members of the WHO team in the first canoe let out a small cheer as Davies pushed them off the bank with his oar. Two of the men lifted a paddle from inside the canoe, helping him stay out of the main current long enough to take up a steady position ten yards out.

Wilkins and the Frenchman arrived, leaping over the bank like hurdlers and coming to a halt inches from where Hynd and Debs stood.

“Where’s the cap and Wiggo?”

“Busy,” Wilkins said, then the sound of gunfire echoed loud around them.

The captain and Wiggins came over the bank at a leap. Wiggins landed heavily, tumbled, and slid in the mud. The captain got him to his feet and retrieved the corporal’s rifle. He didn’t get time to hand it back.

A raptor and rider came over the bank and started down towards them. The captain didn’t lose a beat. He put two rounds in the beast’s head and one down the throat of the rider. The shot pair fell dead in the mud inches from Hynd’s feet.

A bellow, almost deafening, replied to Banks’ shots. Everyone left on the bank looked up and up again as the head then body of a T-rex rose up on the banking only yards away. Debs put her hand in Hynd’s and squeezed. She stood her ground beside him as first the feathered headdress then the king and his raptor came up onto the bank, the rest of his men coming on behind him.

Within seconds, a score of raptors and riders lined up alongside him along the bank on left and right sides of the T-rex .

They set up a chant that sounded like a prayer.

Mokele-Mbembe.

Mokele-Mbembe.

The T-rex roared in reply.

Banks didn’t know much about dinosaurs but he knew better than to turn his back on a predator. He stood silent and gazed back at the beast that had stopped and was looking down at the dead raptor and rider.

“Get him,” the king shouted and moved to urge his raptor forward. The T-rex stopped him by the simple action of nudging his raptor with its huge head. The raptor went quiet and still; it obeyed the king on its back, yes, but it gave its true allegiance to the real king towering above them. Banks began to feel the faint stirrings of hope.

He pointed the rifle at the dead raptor below him then pointed it at the nearest tree and let off three shots, blasting splinters of bark and wood into the air. Then he pointed the rifle at the raptor the king was riding.

The T-rex snorted. Banks felt hot moist air on his face and tasted meat in his mouth. The beast looked at the weapon then at the dead raptor then at the king’s raptor. Its tail swung lazily in the air behind it but its gaze never left Banks.

“Get them!” the king shouted again. The T-rex nudged the man’s raptor again harder this time and again it refused its rider’s command.

Banks spoke, not taking his eyes off the T-rex .

“A true king looks after his subjects,” he said and realized as he said it that he wasn’t talking to the human but to the beast. “All of his subjects.”

The king tried to spur his raptor into an attack but it was having none of it and refused to budge.

“They have usurped my authority,” the man shouted. “They must die!”

Banks raised the aim of his rifle to point directly at the king’s chest. The T-rex watched, still unmoving. It snorted again, more wet heat in Banks’ face. Banks had the strangest feeling that the huge animal was somehow amused at the proceedings.

“I don’t think the true ruler around here agrees with you,” he said to the king and winked at the man.

The king kicked his raptor hard and dug a spearhead into its flank in an attempt to persuade it into an attack. The raptor yelped in pain. The T-rex looked at Banks, looked at the king, then plucked the screaming man from the raptor’s back as neatly as flicking a fly with a finger. The man was still screaming as a huge foot slammed him into the mud. The feathered headdress flew off into the river and floated away in the current. The T-rex bent its head and bit, just once. The last they saw of the king’s head was as it vanished down the T-rex ’s throat as it swallowed. It looked directly at Banks and bellowed, a blast of wet air ruffling his hair. It nudged the king’s raptor gently, almost tenderly, with its head, then turned away.

The raptor followed.

The king’s men up on the bank were slower to take their leave but Banks saw that they would not overrule the T-rex ’s decision. He showed them his rifle.

“We’re leaving now. Do not follow us. I’ll tell you what I told him,” he said, pointing at what was left of their king. “I only show leniency once. I’m not stupid.”

“And neither am I,” one of the riders said in the same clipped English his former leader had used. “Do not come back, sir. You are not welcome here.”

He turned his raptor and headed off back into the jungle. The rest followed them, leaving the squad and the WHO team survivors alone on the river and bank.

“Fuck me, Cap,” Wiggins said at Banks’ side. “I damn near pished myself but you just stood there, stared down a T-rex , and won. How are any of the rest of us ever going to top that?”