Kingdom of Bones (Sigma Force #16)

The bullhorn was lifted again. “Everyone back aboard! We leave in five.”

Moments later, the rain fell harder, pounding all around. Winds kicked up. Lightning chased across the belly of the clouds. One bolt crisscrossed through the air and struck the river. Thunder rattled the helicopter.

“Make that now!” the tall soldier hollered. “We’re leaving now!”


11:52 P.M.

Benjie swam for the next hut. Its roof and upper quarter were still above water. The currents tore at the small structure. As he neared it, a plyboard panel ripped away and sailed across the black water. It quickly vanished into the smoky night.

Rain pelted heavily all around, pebbling the water’s surface.

Behind them, fires still spread through the riverside village, too fierce for the storm to smother. The flames chased them.

Then a low roar rose behind him.

He twisted in the current. The helicopter climbed out of the smoke, wafting fiery embers toward them.

They’re leaving . . .

Ndaye kicked up next to him, waving a soaking arm forward. “Go. Get out of sight.”

Faraji followed in his wake.

With the others departing, Benjie didn’t understand the urgency, but he knew better than to question the guard. The man had been proven right too many times this night. He swam harder, fighting the current, digging deep for the strength to reach the next shelter.

When he finally drew abreast of the tiny structure, he grabbed the planks of its walls and dragged himself through the doorway. Ndaye and Faraji joined him a few breaths later.

“What now?” Benjie panted out.

Ndaye stuck near the door. “Depends on them.”

Benjie searched outside. The helicopter had risen and flew over the fires. He willed it to head off. Instead, the aircraft hovered in a slow arc across the dark half of the village. A brief spit of fire burst from its flank. Something shot forward and blasted into a row of huts with a thunderous boom. A fireball skidded across several structures, vaporizing them all.

“A Hellfire missile,” Ndaye groaned. He turned to them. “They’re destroying everything here.”

Benjie gulped, looking up at the wooden rafters—mere poles—strung under the roof. “Maybe they’ll miss this place.”

Ndaye shook his head. “I spotted an armament of six missiles earlier.”

Which meant they still had five more . . .

Benjie didn’t like those odds, not with so much firepower spread across such a small village.

Neither did Ndaye. He leaped high and grabbed one of the poles overhead. He hung by his hands from it.

“What are you doing?” Benjie called up.

“We’re leaving.”

“How?”

Ndaye nodded for them both to join him on the pole. The man began to swing, kicking his feet against the far wall. Benjie understood, picturing that piece of plyboard being ripped away earlier and carried off by the current. If they could knock loose a section of the wall and use it as a raft, they could make their escape along the river.

He and Faraji boosted themselves up and hung on either side of Ndaye. They all began swinging and kicking at the wall. Another huge explosion shook the hut and the surrounding waters. More smoke rolled across the swollen river.

They all swung and kicked harder, but the wall refused to budge.

The helicopter’s roar drew closer.

“We need to hit it together,” Benjie gasped out. “All at the same time.”

Ndaye slowed his swing and counted them off. On three, they hammered their heels into the plank walls. It gave a bit, pulling partially free of the nails holding it in place. The current began to tear at it, too.

“One more time oughta do it,” Benjie said.

They swung together, only to have the pole snap overhead. They all crashed back into the water. Benjie splashed and sputtered, but he snatched a broken piece of the pole. He kicked over to the assaulted wall, shoved the section into the narrow gap, and fought to pry it wider. He braced his legs on the neighboring wall.

Faraji swam over to help him.

Ndaye retrieved another length of pole and attacked the other side of the wall. Wood groaned, but the stubborn nails refused to let go.

Then the world exploded behind them. Flames shot past the doorway. Choking smoke flooded inside. The concussion slammed into the small hut, carrying with it a huge wave of water. The river swelled into the small space.

Benjie hung onto his pole—as the surge hit the wall. The entire side of the hut fell away from him.

“Get on it!” Ndaye hollered.

As the section of wall splashed into the water, Benjie scrambled atop it with Faraji. The current immediately grabbed their makeshift raft.

Ndaye struggled to reach them. Benjie sprawled on his belly and extended his length of pole. Ndaye lunged a hand, missed it, tried again, then finally gripped it. The guard climbed along the pole as the river ripped at him and spun the raft.

With a final heave, he beached himself atop the broken section of wall. They all lay flat, limbs spread wide to hold their raft steady. The river swept them into the deeper current. Smoke covered the surface, too thick for even the rain and wind to dispel.

Benjie glanced behind him, noting the glow of the helicopter through the pall. Then the current spun them around a bend, and the sight vanished.

Thank god . . .

“We must reach shore!” Ndaye yelled over the river’s churning.

“Why? How?” Benjie asked. “We have no paddles.”

“We must try.”

Faraji stared ahead, his eyes huge.

Then Benjie heard it. The river’s roaring grew in volume, the growl of a great beast.

Oh, no . . .

He remembered that the only way into or out of the village was by air or by rutted jungle track. The river was impassible. A half mile downstream, a series of waterfalls and cataracts turned the course into a meat grinder. And the floods had only made that monster fiercer.

Benjie stared over at the dark fringe of jungle sweeping past them, speeding ever faster. The raft bucked under them, harder and harder.

Lightning shattered the sky.

In the distance, the monster roared its fury, waiting for them.





7


April 23, 11:48 P.M. CAT

Tshopo Province, Democratic Republic of the Congo

“Thunder’s getting worse!” Frank called out.

He leaned his cheek against the cabin window of the helicopter. The deep booms vibrated the acrylic. Far ahead, bright flashes lit the darkness. He squinted at a ruddy glow far upriver.

What’s happening over there? Had a lightning strike ignited a forest fire?

The small Aérospatiale Gazelle jostled in the air as the winds picked up. The helo followed the dark river below. They crossed over a maelstrom of whitewater gnashing over black rock and crashing down steep cliffs. The helicopter’s lights illuminated the heavy mists churned up by the ferocity of the cataracts.

“Storm’s definitely getting worse,” Tucker agreed from the other side of the aircraft, eyeing the tempest outside.

Between them, Kane lay curled on the seat, seemingly unbothered by the bumping and sudden drops in the aircraft. Then again, the Malinois was a veteran, battle-hardened by countless sorties, firefights, and IED blasts. Still, Frank judged the canine with a clinician’s eye, that of a veterinarian who had treated hundreds of military war dogs over the years. He had sutured lacerations, grafted over burns, amputated shattered limbs, and, too often, covered small bodies with a drape of flag. Few appreciated the loyalty of such four-legged soldiers. Their sacrifices and hardships were not for any political cause or national pride, but for a simpler reason, one of the heart, of a bond that could not be broken.

Frank stared over at Tucker.

Even now, the man rested a palm on his partner’s flank.

That bond went both ways.

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