Each man was already carrying roughly seventy pounds apiece and could not afford to add another 160 pounds with Abe. Chuck tied the seat around him and gave him a quick class on the techniques, knowing full well that he would falter.
He knew he had no time for real instruction. He acted as rappel master, hooking in all of the soldiers and having Abe watch them lean singly over the cliff with their hands in their backs, braking their movement. As soon as each solider felt comfortable, he would extend his right hand at a forty-five-degree angle from his side, locking the right elbow, while simultaneously pushing off the rock facing. The green berets bounded their way quickly to the bottom of the ravine. The significant stretch factor in the rope allowed each soldier’s weight to land him gently in the waist-deep stream. Releasing the rope would cause it to bounce crazily back to several meters above the water. The soldiers moved slowly down the stream, filling their canteens and conducting reconnaissance, while those remaining atop the cliff provided overwatch from above.
Eddie flew down the rope, showing off the fact that he was a prestigious Filipino Scout Ranger. Admittedly, he was an expert in jungle and mountain warfare techniques, and the team had grown fond of him. One evening, he had killed a wild boar. Before cooking it, he had cut the pig’s throat and drained the blood into a tin canteen cup that most soldiers used for drinking coffee and cleaning their razor; or both. In one of the few lighthearted moments, Eddie had taken the cup to each of the green berets, saying it was a Filipino Ranger tradition to drink pig’s blood with his fellow warriors. What had been a suspicious team initially, readily came to agree that they saw Eddie in a different light. Ramsey and his team were always game for new traditions and delighted in the ceremony. Each man took a mouthful of the blood under Eddie’s watchful eyes. He gave a yellow-toothed smile every time he saw one of his new teammates swallow, then grimace at the realization at what he had just done. When Major Ramsey took his drink, Eddie saw him chewing as he swallowed.
“Ah. Blood clot, major. That means you special,” Eddie said with a huge grin. The team had laughed and rapidly returned to business.
Eddie slid down the rope, jumped into the water, and took up the number eight position in the patrol. Two more of the team bounced down the rock face, and it was Abe’s turn.
“You can do this,” Chuck said with conviction. He knelt before Abe, pulled the rope toward the anchor point, and looped it twice through Abe’s snap link. The extra friction should make him go slower. Chuck placed his gloved hand on the running end of the rope, then slammed it in Abe’s back.
“That stays there until I tell you different.” He then placed Abe in a good position from which to rappel and slowly pushed him over the rock ledge. Abe’s eyes were wide with fear. Leaning back over a fifty-five-meter cliff was as unnerving experience as any non-climber could have. He went to one knee shaking his head with rocks sliding out from under his feet, almost causing him to slide down the rope.
“No. No.” Abe said, looking down. He was ashamed. Ramsey had an idea. He quickly took the second rope out of his ruck and tied it in similar fashion around another tree less than two meters above the first anchor point. He would go down the rope next to Abe, coaching him all the way. Abe was reassured, but still not confident.
He said, “If you do not do this, you will die.” The grim look on Ramsey’s face told Abe that he had better collect the courage to back over the ledge. With his eyes closed, he inched back.
“Look at me,” Ramsey said, already forming an L with his body hanging over the cliff. The rope was taut, scraping bark from the tree as he wiggled his body into position. He leaned and rocked against the rope, giving Abe confidence. Abe slid over the edge, with his knees scraping the face of the cliff. Exasperated, he looked at the brave major. Realizing he was over the cliff, and had not fallen, he smiled weakly. He could do it. Finally, he inched his way down, walking backward. Ramsey led the way. He preferred to rappel quickly, reducing the amount of time on the rope, but understood his primary purpose was to reassure Abe. They reached the bottom, slid into the refreshing mountain stream, and rejoiced that they had made it safely. Abe bowed respectfully to Ramsey, standing waist deep in rushing water. Ramsey inclined his bearded face downward, accepting the compliment.
Standing in the cool water, Ramsey realized there was nothing he could do about the ropes. He would have to leave them as a major clue for the Abu Sayyaf. He just hoped that he and his men would not swing from them anytime soon. On that thought, he motioned to Abe to walk east and join the rear of the patrol, which had already started moving and clearing.
They had all filled their canteens and soaked their overheated bodies in the stream. The stream led to the northeast of Cateel City and eventually gave way to a flat area almost seventy-five meters above sea level with an excellent view of the landing zone for the helicopters. Only two more hours, Chuck thought. Two hours.
Chapter 43
Major Ramsey’s men climbed out of the stream and formed a tight perimeter, sensing that they might get out of this situation after all. They drank heavily from their canteens again and again until their urine was clear. They had been in the high mountain region, nearly out of water, and urinating the color of legal paper: a sure sign of dehydration. Their new base camp was in a stand of tall mountain pines. The underbrush was relatively sparse.
Give the old tacsat one more try.
Jones took a knee in the middle of the patrol base beneath some tall pines. Ramsey and Abe watched as he dropped his ruck and flipped a switch on the radio. He popped the radial antenna out of his pocket and spread its arms so that it looked like the skeleton of an umbrella. He set an azimuth on his compass and found the direction to “bird 65,” the satellite they had been told to use. It hovered somewhere between the Philippines and Hawaii. All he needed was to aim the antenna in the proper direction, and the radio should work.
Still nothing. Ramsey looked skyward in frustration to see the hot wind blow through the tall pines. He could hear the peaceful lap of waves on the coral reef some six hundred meters away. His frustration was mounting. Normally he could control himself, but not that day.
Ramsey furrowed his brow, wanting to kick somebody or something, when Abe said, “May I ‘ook?”
His L was silent. Abe moved to one knee and looked at the radio stuffed into the rucksack for carrying purposes.
“Can we take out?” Abe asked Jones, motioning with his hands.
“You get take out at Chinese restaurants, man. You can’t fix that thing—” Jones said, just as frustrated as his commander.
“Let him look,” Ramsey interrupted. Jones pulled the radio out of his ruck, a chore in itself. Laying it on the ground, he said, “Here,” and walked away.
“Have any, uh—” He did not know the word. He was motioning with his hand, turning it left and right.
“Screwdriver? You want a freaking screwdriver so you can rip my shit apart?” Jones said, angrily pulling his flop hat off and slapping his thigh with it. “No way, sir,” he said, looking at the major. Jones was protective of his radio, embarrassed enough that it, and he, had failed them. He would be damned if he was going to let some foreigner play with it.