‘What have we got?’ I asked no one in particular.
‘So far, bruised ribs, one mild ankle sprain,’ said West close by, lying on his back. ‘Could’ve been worse. You?’
I was sore all over but then, who wasn’t? ‘Fine,’ I said.
‘The place went nuts when they found our handiwork in the HQ,’ said Rutherford behind me, also lying on his back. ‘A couple of guys stumbled onto us. One of them got away and we had to leave in a hurry.’
‘Marcel,’ said LeDuc, standing unsteadily, his feet sinking in the ooze. ‘He is gone.’
‘You jump with him?’ I asked.
‘Oui. He landed badly. Hit his head on a rock. He drowned.’
I felt a pang of guilt, but there was not much we could do about a dead guy and there were other priorities. I scoped the bank. Leila and Ayesha were flat on their backs, covered in mud, chests heaving with exhaustion and fright, but they seemed okay. Ryder was sitting between them, head between his knees.
‘Duke. All right?’ I asked him.
He managed a nod.
‘Who’s got the ankle sprain?’ I asked Rutherford.
‘Me. More of a rolled ankle. No big deal.’ There was a shrug in his tone.
The CNDP above us had given up firing blind into the blackness.
I heard splashing in the water. Cassidy was dragging Boink through the shallow water.
‘Need help here,’ the sergeant gasped.
Cassidy was a big man, but Boink was in a whole other league. West and I waded back in and hauled him up onto the bank while Rutherford and Duke went to Cassidy’s aid.
‘What happened up there?’ I asked.
‘I think that first ledge gave way under him,’ said West. ‘After that, I’m not sure, but dragging you along behind slowed him down. A tree growing out of the top of the cliff finally stopped him. You missed it and went over.’
‘How’s he doing?’ I could hear Boink’s teeth clacking together. He was shivering with cold.
‘He was conscious when the rest of us jumped,’ said Cassidy. ‘I think he went into the water in reasonable shape. Might have hit his head somewhere along the way.’
‘Thanks for cutting the rope,’ I said. ‘Perfect timing.’
‘Wasn’t cut, not by me anyway.’
I thought back to the moment. There’d been a lot of lead flying about. If a bullet had done the job, I’d been luckier than I thought.
‘Everyone make it?’ Cassidy asked.
‘We lost the prisoner,’ I told him.
‘Solves a problem then, doesn’t it?’
It did.
Boink, lying face up, looked like a beached Manitou in basketball gear. He groaned, his head moving from one side to the other. His eyes opened.
‘Yo,’ said Rutherford leaning over him. ‘Wasssuuup?’
Boink’s eyes moved between all of us, roving uncertainly.
They came into focus. ‘Fuck,’ he said. And then again, with meaning, ‘Fuck!’
Cassidy patted down Boink’s legs and arms. ‘No breaks,’ he reported.
‘What about his neck and spine?’ asked Rutherford.
‘Move your fingers,’ Cassidy told him.
Boink wiggled them.
‘Now your toes.’ Cassidy grabbed the end of his mud-encrusted Nikes. After a few uncertain seconds, he said, ‘Yep, got movement.’
‘Let’s get everyone to dry ground.’ I tapped Boink on the leg. ‘Can you get up?’
He gave it a go, groaning as he rolled onto his stomach before coming up on all fours. Cassidy and I took an arm each and helped him stand. Boink took a step and the mud sucked hard at his shoes, gurgling loudly. The guy faltered, and then regained his balance.
‘I’m over this shit, you know what I’m sayin’?’ he said, shaking his head.
Yeah, I knew. We wrestled him up the greasy bank and then onto the flatter ground up beyond the erosion. The elephant grass was thick and each blade of it had a sharp edge, but when flattened it provided a reasonably dry bed. We sat the big man down and went back for the others.
Five minutes later, everyone was higher and a little drier. Unless the troops up on the ridge cared to take the jump into the unknown like we did, which none of them seemed prepared to do, we were beyond their reach. Rutherford and West unpacked the gear, pulling out the packets of beef jerky. There wasn’t a lot to go around, but something was better than nothing.
‘We need sleep,’ said Cassidy. ‘I’ll take the first watch, and split the remaining time between West and Ryder. You get some sleep, Cooper. You look like shit.’
‘But at least you don’t smell like it anymore,’ said Rutherford.
‘Anyone got a watch?’ I asked.
West handed me my Seiko. ‘Found it in one of the rucksack pockets,’ he said.
It was just after eleven. ‘We’ll have to move before dawn. We don’t want anyone up there on the ridge getting lucky with a 97.’
Cassidy agreed, and then said quietly, ‘Done good, sir. We live to fight another day.’
Too tired to think of anything snappy, I just nodded and took one of the available ponchos. I lay down under it and sleep hit me like an angry circus animal.
In what seemed like a handful of seconds, I heard Rutherford’s singsong voice in my ear saying, ‘Wakey, wakey.’
Would he go away if I told him to? No. I opened an eyelid, seemingly the only muscle not bruised black and blue and cramped in place. I moved my tongue around my teeth, got a hint of my morning breath. The awful smell of the nose ooze from the hanging guy had taken up residence in my mouth. I needed a hot shower that lasted till the water ran out, two black coffees — extra strong — and maybe four toasted ham and cheese sandwiches. No, make that five. My bladder ached like it was full of cold acid. I opened the other eye and realized that I was spooning Boink, and that a body behind was spooning me, an arm over my waist, a hand on my chest. Leila’s. It was steamy under the poncho, and stank of river mud, wet body odor and stale farts.
I removed Leila’s hand and propped myself on one hand, disturbing the others still trying to sleep. Somehow I got to my feet and managed to step over bodies without leaving boot prints on anyone, and the dark masses wriggled together, closing the gap my departure had created.
I stopped to allow the contents of my bladder to kill a bush before following Rutherford over to where Cassidy, West and Ryder were quietly talking. It was four thirty-five.
‘Sleeping Beauty has riz,’ Rutherford said as I made my way over to them.
‘How’s your ankle?’ I asked him.
‘Better.’
‘Boss, found this in the mud,’ said West. ‘Yours, I think.’ He held the knife toward me, handle first. I told him thanks and sheathed it.
While I’d been catching somewhat less than forty winks, the crescent moon had climbed a little higher and was mooching around behind a thin screen of high cloud, providing enough light to see that all our weapons and other stores were laid out on a poncho over a flattened square of elephant grass. If all this stuff worked as the PLA intended, we really could give a platoon-sized force a good mauling. There was a change in the mood. Preparation was in the air. West was reassembling one of the QCWs after having cleaned and dried it, getting ready for something. I didn’t need an itinerary to know what, but I said, ‘We going somewhere?’
‘That’s up to you,’ said Cassidy.
‘Do we believe they’re still alive?’ I asked, sinking onto my haunches. No one had spoken out for some time on the possible state of our captured principals’ health, but the subject on my mind was obviously also on theirs.
‘We have to find out one way or the other, right?’ said West.