Both Clay and Caesare quietly replaced their magazines. The M12s, while deadly, were no match for the range and accuracy of the AK-47s. Their game had to be as much mental as physical. Their strategy was to lure Ngeze’s men closer, within range, where they would strike again and retreat further. A cat and mouse approach. Until all the mice were dead.
They counted six men down, and pressed themselves lower when they heard someone yelling more orders. The unleashing of a new hail of bullets followed, even closer this time.
Dozens of rounds ripped through the large leaves and fronds around them, while others tore huge chucks of bark from nearby trees. One round ricocheted, tearing through Caesare’s upper calf. He gritted his teeth and pressed tighter against the boulder in front him.
“Dammit!” he grimaced. “You hear me, Clay?”
“You okay?”
“I’m hit. In the leg. I can still move but I’m under heavy fire!” He tried to look around the rock. “My left is no good and I have no more cover behind me.”
“Come towards me,” Clay’s voice sounded over the radio in Caesare’s ear. “Say when.”
“Now!” Caesare leaned out and unleashed a blast into the trees where one of Ngeze’s men made it to within ten yards of him before being hit in the chest.
Clay rose and joined in, running through his entire magazine to give Caesare enough time to escape.
Sliding down a mound of dirt and surging through a thicket of towering bushes, he found a line of rocks and slid in low behind them.
“You see me?”
“Yeah,” Caesare nodded, pulling out an empty magazine and replacing it with another. “One more down.”
Further back on the ridge, Ngeze was still listening. He could hear the fire from the Americans. Longer bursts now, and moving. There were only a few of them, steadily retreating backward.
Ngeze slowly rose with his own rifle and advanced stealthily along a small ridge to his left. He wound behind a dense group of trees where the terrain then dropped further into the brush and near to where the Americans were shooting from. If he could move quickly, Ngeze might be able to come around far enough to get an angle on one of them.
Chunks of the tree exploded behind Caesare, forcing him to duck again. Dozens of 7.62 rounds pelted the ground around him, ripping through branches and spitting dirt into the air.
Hidden from view, Clay emptied his magazine and instinctively reached for another, but this time his hand found nothing. Under fire, he glanced down to find the thick pocket in his pants ripped open, leaving only frayed fabric. He patted the pocket and confirmed it was empty. His extra magazines were gone.
Desperately searching the ground, Clay visually traced his steps backward through the bushes. He couldn’t see them. He then checked his spent magazines, hoping for a few unfired rounds. Nothing.
Clay peeked quickly under the fallen tree he was leaning against when several flashes appeared and the ground around him exploded. He instantly pulled his pack off and ripped it open. Finding another magazine, he grabbed it and slapped it in. “I’m getting low.”
“Same here.”
“Let’s smoke ‘em!” Clay reached back into his pack and retrieved a small green canister. He yanked the pin, activating the fuse, and threw it as far as he could. With a flash and thunderous bang, a thick stream of gray smoke began filling the air.
Almost a hundred feet to the right of Clay, Ngeze hit the ground and tried to catch his breath. He squirmed forward and parted a set of branches with his left hand, scanning. A dense section of vegetation separated him from the Americans’ location. To his right, a gray cloud of smoke began billowing upward, gradually cutting off visibility for rest of his men.
His rifle in hand, Ngeze continued moving slowly and slid head first over a rock-strewn embankment. And calmly disappeared into the dense bushes ahead.
After throwing his own smoke, Caesare reached for his last remaining magazine. The shots abated briefly, and he could hear the yelling of Ngeze’s men drawing closer.
Still yelling orders, Boshoso watched the smoke fill the air in front of them. It was spreading quickly. And once it reached them, the murky gases would leave him and the rest of the men too blind to shoot for fear of hitting one another. They had to pick a side, and quickly. He pointed in Caesare’s direction.
“Through the smoke! THROUGH THE SMOKE! NOW!”
Simultaneously, the eight remaining men jumped to their feet and ran hard toward Caesare. They continued through the veil of smoke, yelling and opening fire once again.
Caesare sought cover behind a severely splintering tree. Bullets continued pummeling deep into the trunk in front of him, drilling, as if trying to make it out the other side.
He focused past the disintegrating tree to see Ngeze’s men advance through the smoke and resume firing.
“I’ve got trouble, Clay!” he yelled.
Caesare’s eyes darted backward, looking for a way out. But there wasn’t enough cover. They were too close. He wouldn’t make it more than a few feet.
The ground was still exploding around him when he double-checked his magazine, verifying it was in, and took a deep breath.
“I think it’s time to spray and pray.”
With that, he fingered his trigger and twisted onto a knee, ready to leap.
Ngeze could now see Clay through the trees. He was close enough to make the shot, given a better line of sight. He inched sideways through the towering bushes, looking for a better angle. He could see part of the American, lying on the ground, still firing at his men — barely fifty feet away.
Easily within range.
He slowly propped himself up onto his elbows, looking to place the American in his sites.
He slowed his breathing, trying to relax. A soft breeze ruffled the fronds next to him, continuing past and through to the plants behind him.
Ngeze stopped, waiting a moment for the wind to settle. The breeze faded, but the leaves behind him were still moving. What started as a low rustling sound gradually grew louder.
Curious, he began to turn when a movement suddenly exploded behind him. In an instant, Ngeze whirled around with his gun, making eye contact with a set of dark eyes. They belonged to a large silverback gorilla, now standing over him.
Powerful eyes that spotted his rifle and immediately became enraged.
John Clay whirled to his right, raising his gun the second he heard it — a deeply terrifying, animalistic roar. The awful sound was then followed by a bloodcurdling human scream.
Boshoso and his men all turned toward the scream. The voice was unmistakable. It was Ngeze, somewhere in the distance. And when the sounds stopped, they did so with a deadly gargle.
The surviving men all turned to Boshoso, who remained frozen, staring in stunned silence through the trees. Their weapons were still pointed in the direction of the Americans, the faint wisps of smoke rising faintly from their barrels.
They never noticed the smoke cloud that had passed over and was now fully behind them. Or the glimpses of movement materializing from the other side.
It was not until one of Ngeze’s men looked back again at Boshoso that he saw the impending danger. And tried to warn the others.
Behind them, emerging from the smoke, were silverbacks. Dozens of them. All running while leaning forward in attack position, atop powerful arms, and baring huge, terrifying teeth.
Before Boshoso could speak, the gorillas exploded forward into a blur of speed and strength, closing the short distance in an instant.