Glossary
‘Snake-and-nape’ – 500lb Snakeye bomb consisting of high explosives and napalm delivered by an F4 Phantom jet. The fins of the bomb opened to delay its flight until the aircraft was clear of fragments. At this point the infantry would also hit the deck.
NVA – North Vietnamese Army.
Dog-tags – it was common practice to tie a dog-tag to a bootlace. If a body was blown to bits, at least there was a dog tag around the neck and one on a limb – chances were, at least part of a body could be identified.
Helmet graffiti – frowned upon by officers, this could be anything from social security numbers to girlfriends’ names, names of home states, cities, and nicknames – or even just an opinion. Anything that would give an individual flavour to a ‘ground-pounder’s’ appearance.
*************************
The sun was already sending heat shimmers from the runway tarmac when Brodie and Tara arrived at Santa Teresa airstrip.
Pulling into the shadow of the largest of the old hangars, they were met by a bemused Davis, the young security chief dressed in fatigues with a heavy .44 Colt Magnum in a holster at his waist.
"Hey, Brodie – what’s with the dog?"
Brodie slipped on his sunglasses and looked at Davis.
"Just along for the ride, that’s all. Don’t worry about him – he can take care of himself."
Lifting his stick, Brodie levered himself out of the jeep and helped Tara unload their gear, the dog standing on the back seat panting happily. Davis snorted with amusement and lifted a hand to rub the dog’s ears and was rewarded with a soft, single swipe of the wet tongue.
"Cute." Davis squinted against the bright sunlight and watched as Brodie unloaded a veritable armoury of weapons, including a couple of sawn-off shotguns and a bag of grenades. "Jeez, Brodie – you sure you’ve brought enough firepower? We do have some pretty nasty guns with us y’know."
Brodie carried on sorting through his ammunition and cocked an eyebrow at Davis.
"There’ll never be enough firepower, Davis – you’ve been there, so you know what I mean. Those sonsabitches are smart."
"What the bloody hell is that?"
Pieter van Guelder sauntered out of the hangar office and caught sight of the huge dog standing in the jeep.
Brodie grinned.
"Obviously never seen a Baboon Hound before, huh, van Guelder? Sure beats the shit out of those dogs you got in South Africa … what the hell are they called … oh yeah - Ridgebacks. Rhodesian Ridgebacks. They only hunt lions. The mutt here would have ‘em for dessert."
Van Guelder scowled.
"You can’t bring that thing along … it’ll just get in the way!"
Brodie shrugged.
"Okay. You get him out of the jeep and throw his ass off the property. He’s his own boss, he can do what the hell he likes – but if he wants to come to the island and eat baboons then that’s fine by me."
Van Guelder reached out to grab the dog by the scruff of the neck and haul him out of the jeep … and heard a soft rumble from the dog’s chest. The bushy tail drooped and the dark eyes gazed out of the chocolate mask, watching the hand that reached out to grab the skin of his neck. Van Guelder hesitated … and withdrew the hand.
Brodie’s grin widened with unconcealed delight.
"Whoo-ee! He sure don’t like you, hey, van Guelder?" He sighed dramatically. "Well – that’s Baboon Hounds for you. Picky, picky, picky."
The big South African glowered at Brodie, dislike creasing the handsome face.
"You just keep that mangy thing away from me, and it’d better not stray into my sights, Brodie or I’ll shoot the fucker! D’you hear me?"
Without waiting for an answer, van Guelder turned on his heel and headed for the office, muttering dire threats under his breath.
Brodie looked at the dog, now back wagging his bottle-brush of a tail at the big ex-soldier.
"You know what you are, don’t you, you putz? A trouble-maker. Nothin’ but a trouble-maker." He studied van Guelder’s retreating back with relish "Keep it up, mutt, keep it up …"
Finished with his task, he followed Tara into the depths of the hangar where piles of gear and most of the vehicles were waiting to be loaded onto the old Hercules transport plane now being fueled out on the single runway. With the dog trotting along behind Brodie, Davis showed them where to store their gear and then Tara headed off to see to the final preparations in the ambulance. They could hear Dervla Monaghan’s voice ripely cursing some recalcitrant piece of equipment, the Ulster voice lending a strong celtic flavour to the epithets.
Davis led Brodie over to a section of the hangar obviously set aside for the team’s use; a couple of battered canteen tables and a scattering of chairs next to a coffee maker on a low table attested to its regular use. Davis headed towards the coffee-maker and poured the dark, hot liquid into two of the motley collection of mugs gathered around the machine like a multi-coloured gaggle of chicks.
Brodie lowered himself onto a chair and the dog sprawled happily beside him, huge body stretched out on the hangar floor like a rug. He grinned as a mug of black coffee was dumped on the table beside him and Davis heaved his long frame into the neighbouring chair.
Davis looked at the big man beside him, noticing how relaxed Brodie was.
" Are you gonna be all right with this, Frank? I mean, it’s not going to be easy …"
Brodie pondered the question. For some reason, as soon as he stepped foot out of the jeep and realised there was no going back, the stress of the past few weeks had disappeared. Perhaps … perhaps this was meant to be. Perhaps going back to San Miguel Island was the final chapter of a book that needed to be finished before he could move on.
He thought about Tara and all she had done and been through with him. Never once had she backed off from taking care of him, making sure he was all right … loving him. And he understood with a jolt that she loved him – Tara Matthews loved him with every inch of her being, and he knew with absolute certainty that without her love he would have died. If not on the island, then afterwards … either from booze or from a bullet. She didn’t love him out of pity either … she loved him for what he was. Even though that meant loving a grouchy, ill-mannered crippled sonofabitch that occasionally appeared to have shit for brains.
He looked over at Davis with a smile that suddenly softened his tired features, a smile that made Davis grin in return.
"Yeah, Davis. I’m fine. Just fine."
Davis’ smile became puzzled as he heard something new in Brodie’s voice – a soft acceptance, a deep, wondrous sense of hope that had never been there before. He shook his head. Damn, but Brodie was a hard man to fathom sometimes.
But Brodie didn’t notice. In a single moment of crystal clarity he understood something about himself, too.
He loved Tara Matthews more than life itself. And if he didn’t make it off the island this time, at least he would die knowing that in this world at least, he had been loved and loved in return.
**************************
For the next couple of hours Brodie watched as vehicles and gear were loaded into the Hercules, the huge aircraft swallowing the mass of equipment like some sort of huge avian dinosaur. It was fueled and the ground checks had all been done, and he shaded his eyes against the sun as the engines cranked into motion and the four-man crew taxied the cumbersome-looking machine along the runway.
Van Guelder and his team were aboard the Hercules – the big South African had declined to travel on one of the two Sea Hawk helicopters supplied by Cunningham for the trip, and he decided to help set up perimeters and have the gear unloaded by the time the helicopters arrived.
Brodie saw the huge aircraft lumber into the air, amazed as always as to how the thing could possibly remain airborne, and pondered on the days to come.
Returning to the hangar, he stretched his game leg out on a chair and sprawled comfortably, the dog flopping down in his accustomed place beneath the outstretched leg. Brodie lifted his stick and scratched the animal’s prone belly with the ferrule, grinning as a back leg began to kick in reaction. The dog groaned with ecstasy. Moron, Brodie thought.
Brodie also thought about van Guelder. He was capable and intelligent – too intelligent for Brodie’s liking. He didn’t like the way van Guelder had ignored his warnings about the ferocity of the baboons, although he respected the man’s talents. But there was something about van Guelder that rubbed Brodie up the wrong way … and it wasn’t just the fact that the man had tried to smooch with Tara. He was just so … so … arrogant! That was it. He was arrogant. Well, Brodie thought. Wait until one of those goddamn baboons tries to chomp his leg in two. Then he’ll change his tune …
He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to see Tara standing beside him, her dark eyes enquiring.
"You ready?"
Brodie touched her cheek for a moment, and smiled ruefully. This whole thing was so fuckin’ crazy …
"Yeah, girl – I’m ready."
Tara grinned.
"Well, c’mon then – it’s time to go."
"Already? Jeez, I only just sat down!"
"Well, you can rest up in the chopper if you’re tired. Up you get …"
The dog heaved himself to his feet as Brodie stood, the big man leaning heavily on his stick. He had been on his feet longer than normal, and the pain was beginning to kick in, but he limped after Tara as she headed towards the Sea Hawk, the dog ambling happily in Brodie’s wake.
Two Sea Hawks waited out in the morning heat haze, one for Brodie, Tara and Davis, the other for the small crew of technicians Cunningham was sending with them to repair the electrical equipment and generators still on the island. Once the electricity and water supply had been sorted out, the Hercules would be sent in with accommodation modules until more permanent buildings could be constructed.
Brodie could only guess at what the business tycoon had planned for the island – if they could clear the remaining baboons out of the hidden valleys and caves. Brodie knew that was going to be a tough order to fulfill, despite van Guelder’s confidence.
Still, that was to come and there was nothing Brodie could do about it. He would do his best to get the job done with as few casualties as possible – and he was in no doubt at all that there would be casualties – and then he could get on with his life. If he survived, that is.
He clambered into the helicopter, Tara sitting beside him and Davis opposite. The dog looked at the helicopter, hesitating at the down-draught of the huge rotor blades and wincing at the noise of the engines.
Brodie saw the animal stand, ears flapping in the ever-increasing draught and eyes squinting at the open door before him.
"Hey, you moron! You wanted to come along, so get your ass in here if you don’t want to spend the next few weeks eating out of garbage cans!" Brodie put his hand on the door handle to emphasise the point, and the dog decided the noise and disturbance would be worth it just as long as he wasn’t separated from the big man.
Steeling his big body, he scrambled in through the hatchway and skittered into the helicopter, tail tucked tightly between his back legs with fear. He headed under Tara’s legs and stayed there, eyes glued on Brodie as Davis helped the ex-soldier slide the door shut.
Brodie slumped back in his seat, suddenly very tired. Well, there was no going back now. He was on his way to San Miguel island whether he liked it or not.
He felt a sudden clutch of fear in his chest as the helicopter lifted off, swinging away over the airstrip and heading west out over the shoreline, and then they were over the rocky coastline and heading out to sea. God, he hated these things. Ever since Vietnam, Brodie had loathed helicopters, and he could never get rid of the feeling that he was heading into deep shit on one of these ungainly, noisy, smelly contraptions.
For a moment he was back in 1971, heading out to a small village south of Duc Pho, the Huey taking his squad into what had turned out to be a fuck-up of the worst kind. In an abandoned village the NVA had caught up with them, and the ensuing fire-fight had seen Brodie’s squad so committed to the fight that they had come under fire from their own artillery. He remembered the mortar rounds setting fire to the banana groves and the ‘snake-and-nape’ coming in too close … he remembered with a lurch how they had hit the deck, but it was too late for Valdez. Jimmy ‘Pisspot’ Valdez – the man who had ‘Don’t shoot me – I’m short’ written on his helmet. Brodie’s drinking buddy. The man who had asked Brodie to be the best man at his wedding, the man who had been shredded by shrapnel five minutes into the fire-fight.
Brodie still remembered lying flat on his back, looking up into the forest canopy and gazing at the blue, blue sky between the branches. He remembered hearing Valdez’s gurgle as the blood filled his lungs and the man died clutching at Brodie’s boot, Brodie helpless to do anything about it because his own insides were all shot to hell. He could still see Valdez’s twitching fingers around his boot, and Brodie idly thought that it was a good thing he had tied one of his dog-tags to his boot-lace. If he got blown to bits they would at least know who the leg belonged to.
But he had lived, and Jimmy had died. Brodie had gone to see Jimmy’s fiancee when he got home, and gave her his lucky silver dollar. She had wept then, and asked Brodie to leave. Brodie had silently left, knowing she was wishing it had been him that had been blown to bits instead of Jimmy Valdez.
"Frank?"
Brodie blinked, and surfaced from his reverie. Tara was looking at him with concern, and Brodie realised he was drenched with sweat.
"Frank, are you okay?" Tara watched as Brodie straightened in his seat. For long minutes the man had been quietly gazing out of the window, and then she had heard the soft hitch in his breath and she had exchanged glances with a worried Davis.
Brodie cleared his throat.
"Yeah … yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t like these things is all. They give me the heebie-jeebies." He looked at the two sets of concerned eyes, and sighed. "Don’t ask. It was a long time ago, okay?"
Davis nodded. Shit, Brodie had some demons riding his back. He guessed it had to do with Vietnam, but Davis wasn’t going to push his luck and ask the man what it was all about. Brodie was not the kind of man you pushed about such things. Davis would more than likely get his lights punched out if he pursued it.
Brodie felt a touch on his hand, and was surprised to see Tara’s fingers link with his, her silent support easing the thudding of his heart in his chest. He squeezed gently, and she smiled. Resting their clasped hands on his thigh, Brodie sighed and returned to gaze once more out of the window, feeling the dog now curled up under his leg. For some unaccountable reason the big animal’s presence and Tara’s touch finally chased the memories away and he relaxed, watching the sun glint on the water below as the helicopter sped towards the horizon and the island that waited in the heart of a sapphire sea.
*******************
The Hercules had disgorged most of the equipment by the time the Sea Hawks came in to land, and Brodie looked at the old runway below, tufted and roughened by vegetation in places but still useable. They had flown over the compound to reach the airstrip, and he thought he glimpsed a couple of dark, hairy forms disappear into the undergrowth … but he couldn’t be sure.
The helicopter thudded gently onto the runway and Brodie heard the rotors begin to slow, the steady ‘whop-whop’ casting shadows and light onto the cracked tarmac. The door was pulled back and van Guelder appeared, a machine-gun already slung over his shoulder and ammo belts draped crossways over his chest.
Behind van Guelder, the immediate area had turned into a hive of activity. The team of ex-soldiers was thorough, even Brodie had to accept that, and within two hours everything was unloaded and ready to go. The men had scattered as Dervla Monaghan had driven the ambulance out of the Hercules, horn honking, the neat Ulsterwoman grinning madly through the windscreen. Tara winced. Dervla was one hell of a good nurse, but she was a shockingly bad driver. But her wince turned to a grin as van Guelder opened the driver’s door and yelled at Dervla to move over – he would drive. Dervla had arched her eyebrow at his insolence … and then moved over. As they drove by on their way to the compound, Dervla flashed Tara a wink and a cheeky grin.
Brodie and Tara loaded their gear into their jeep and set off after Davis, now driving a big humvee through the long grass down the hill towards the compound. The dog sat in the back of the jeep, ears blowing in the wind, nose checking the air as the vehicle bumped and lurched along the old track.
As they got nearer, Brodie began to feel his gut tightening. He really didn’t
want to be here – but right now he couldn’t think where on earth he
did want to be. Right
now
… right now he needed to be here more than anything else in the world.
It was as if he had come home. Now where did that revolting little thought
come from, he wondered.
He looked over at Tara, face set in concentration as she tried to follow the ruts in the track, and he had to grin. She looked so beautiful in her determination, and he was glad beyond words that she was here with him.
She caught sight of him staring at her, and she flashed him a smile of such brilliance his chest tightened. Brodie knew she was probably more scared than he was, but she had come along anyway. She had come with him into hell, and he didn’t know what he had done to deserve that kind of devotion.
But he didn’t have any more time to think about it as they passed through the old, corrugated iron gateway into the compound … and suddenly it was as if he had never left.
The blackened ruins of the tower lay before him and the wrecked buildings stood, stark and broken, in the encroaching undergrowth. And all around the shattered tower were the burnt and decomposed corpses of huge primates.
Brodie shuddered.
He was back.
***********************
"These bloody things are enormous!"
Dervla Monaghan was standing looking down at the now mostly skeletonized corpse of the huge alpha male, still lying where Brodie had left the animal to bleed its life out in the dirt.
Pieter van Guelder frowned. Crouching down, he studied the remains with clinical
efficiency, and realised that Brodie was right – these animals were very,
very different to anything he had ever seen. At least twice the size of any
baboon he had ever encountered, the massive canines were set into unnaturally
powerful jaws. The front paws were equipped with unusually dexterous fingers,
and the highly-domed skull indicated an above-average intelligence for such
a creature. These were unlike any baboon he had ever dealt with.
Big sonofabitch,huh?"
Van Guelder looked up to find Brodie watching him examine the animal, and noticed the muscles jumping along Brodie’s jaw. Van Guelder had to agree.
"Bigger than any baboon I’ve ever seen. Strong, too."
Brodie grinned mirthlessly.
"See the bloodstains on the teeth?" Van Guelder nodded. Brodie continued. "That’s my blood. This is the one that crippled me."
Van Guelder’s eyes widened, but before he could reply Brodie had turned and limped away. The big South African looked at Davis who stood beside Dervla, his face lined with stress.
"He’s kidding, right?"
Davis shook his head.
"Nope. Brodie’s not kidding. That big mother took a chunk out of my shoulder before Brodie pulled it off me and killed it – and it nearly killed him into the bargain. If Tara hadn’t gone back for him Brodie would be just another piece of rotting flesh in this hellhole. We only just made it."
Van Guelder looked back at the rotting carcass.
"Jesus …" His voice was soft with shock.
Davis grimaced.
"Yeah. Well, I think we ought to get the perimeter set up – we don’t want to be out here with no protection come nightfall. They’re more active at night."
Standing, van Guelder followed Davis and Dervla to the gear stacked in the compound, and set to work.
*********************
By the time night fell, the camp was well established. Brodie’s old generator had been repaired and new power sources linked to it to provide electricity for the many SATCON and thermal recon systems van Guelder had set up. Thermal imagery systems were situated around the perimeter, and also a portable CCTV system was in operation, all linked to computers established in the back of one of the trucks.
The camp had all of the modern conveniences, even an ex-military chow wagon, and one of the team doubled as a cook – and a pretty good cook he was too.
A large fire was burning in the centre of the camp, and most of the team not on watch were gathered around, watching the flames and hashing out the plans for the next day. Brodie and Davis had outlined where the baboons were, and van Guelder had briefed the team on the operation for the following morning – to head east and find the caves Brodie knew were located in the ancient cliffs. The baboons infested the place like vermin.
For once, van Guelder had listened. He had to admit to himself that he was shaken by the size of the primates, and he saw how lame Brodie was. The things were vicious. He formulated plans and offered them for approval, and although Brodie still thought he was an arrogant shithead, he had to say van Guelder knew his stuff.
But as the evening went on, Brodie realised he was exhausted. Davis had given them a tent near the fire, knowing Brodie would feel more comfortable, and the big ex-soldier levered himself to his feet, muttering that he was whacked and he was off to bed.
Tara followed him, knowing that for this first night more than anything he needed her beside him as he went to sleep.
Their tent was huge, with a proper bed made for tourists on safari in Africa, and Brodie was looking forward to getting some rest. It had been a hard day in more ways than one.
He looked at the bed and the washbasin set beside it, along with all of their clothes and gear.
"Nice."
Tara slipped her arms around him and rested her head on his back, and he leaned into her touch.
"You feel good, Frank – tired, but good. Davis says if we need anything, we’re just to yell, okay?"
Brodie began to undress, but Tara beat him to it, helping him strip down to boxers and tee-shirt. She gave him his pills, and made sure he had water beside him if he needed painkillers through the night. Slipping into her old night-shirt, she brushed her hair, washed, cleaned her teeth and crawled into bed, draping herself over Brodie’s scarred frame.
But she didn’t miss the knife Brodie had placed on the bedside table, or the pump-action shotgun propped against his backpack on the floor within easy reach. He wasn’t taking any chances.
"Mmmm …"
Tara smiled as she heard Brodie sigh quietly, and she kissed his cheek as he relaxed back into the pillows.
"You all right, Frank?"
Brodie returned her kiss, nuzzling into her hair, smelling the scent of sunshine and fresh air.
"Yeah. I didn’t think I’d be feeling like this though."
Tara lifted her head and looked at him. He looked almost serene.
"Feeling like what?"
Brodie thought for a moment.
"I thought I’d be shit-scared, and I suppose I am in a way. But …"
Tara frowned in puzzlement.
"But what?"
Brodie kissed her again, taking heart from her presence.
"Well … I don’t mind that I’m shit-scared, girl – because you’re here. As long as I have you, I think … I think it’s gonna be okay."
Tara was astounded. But as she gazed into his blue-on-blue eyes … she understood the truth of it. He loved her. Through the tired shadows of his face she saw the joy in him, the calmness in him brought about by her presence.
Unable for a moment to speak without her voice breaking, she reached up and touched his weary features, and smiled. He closed his eyes at her touch, and heard him sigh again, this time in contentment.
Finally she found her voice.
"Frank Brodie … you are a big, dumb, bad-tempered pain-in-the-ass, nothing but trouble, and an ass-hole to boot – but you’re my ass-hole, and I love you."
She heard a soft chuckle.
"You love me, huh?"
Tara grinned.
"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I do. More than anything."
Brodie looked down into her deep brown eyes and smiled.
"Good. Because I love you too, even though you’re a nag."
The two of them were silent for a moment, absorbing the information, comfortable and warm next to one another. Then Tara spoke quietly.
"Frank?"
"Yeah?"
"Go to sleep. You’re tired and you’re babbling."
"Is that an order?" His voice was warm with humour.
"Yes Frank, it is."
"Okay. ‘Night, girl."
"’Night Frank."
Snuggling under the big comforter, they drifted into a deep sleep.
************************
In the early hours of the morning the dog awoke from his deep, twitching, rabbit-filled dreams in front of Brodie and Tara’s tent.
He had spent the evening mooching scraps from the team, and had even deigned to beg a scrap from van Guelder, the big man grudgingly throwing him a piece of chicken. But after Brodie went to bed, the dog decided it was time he settled down too, and collapsed in a hairy heap in front of the tent opening.
This place had strange, threatening smells, scents he had never come across before, scents that were almost – but not quite – human. And now he was awake, his sharp olfactory senses bombarded with the strange, menacing odour.
Sitting up, his hackles rose along his back, and a rumble began in his chest. He could hear a soft, chittering sound deep in the semi-tropical undergrowth, and there was the pungent smell of rotting flesh.
Whatever these things were, there were a lot of them. And they completely surrounded the camp.
*********************