GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

chaos, and just that quickly, the jungle went silent.
    Seven rebels lay dead, with the last one dying. Ryland signaled the men forward to quickly drag the dead deeper into the bushes and glean as much intel as possible, looking for maps and radio frequencies. The sound of gunfire could be heard for miles and they didn’t want to stay there any longer than necessary, nor did they want to draw more attention to themselves than they already had.
    They set out fast, putting distance between the dead rebels and them, making good time as the night began to approach. Ryland called a halt and signaled to Kadan to find a good hide for a few hours’ sleep. They needed rest and food before they moved on.
    Sam resisted the urge to use the radio just to hear Azami’s voice. The rain refused to slow down, pouring down as if trying to flood the area. Small rivulets ran all around them. They had to watch each other for leeches, removing them in stoic silence. They took turns sleeping and guarding for four hours before starting out again. The quick catnap helped take the edge off.
    Moving at night was slow, but moving during the day was far more dangerous. They had too long of a way to travel to engage with the rebels too many times. Kadan abruptly stopped as the sun came up, signaling to hold. The GhostWalkers dropped to their knee and waited.
    We’ve got a fairly well traveled road here, Rye
, Kadan reported.
We might pick up a vehicle if we keep close to it.
    Ryland considered the risks before he agreed. The distance to Matadi without picking up transportation would take too many days to walk and they were going to get lucky only if they were close to a road.
    Let’s stay close.
    They didn’t have long to wait until they heard the faint sound of an engine chugging toward them. Quickly they setup an ambush. As the rusty old pickup came into sight, Gator stumbled out onto the road, babbling, arguing with himself in his Cajun accent, seemingly oblivious to the truck. The truck lurched to a halt, four rebels spilling out, shouting at Gator and gesturing with guns. When he continued to babble, they looked at one another and one went up to him to deliver a blow into his midsection. The others spit on him. One punched and another kicked him as he went down. Engrossed in beating up the clearly insane idiot, none of them noticed the GhostWalkers slipping up behind them.
    Gator’s eyes cleared. From the ground he gave them a wicked grin and wiggled his fingers. “Bye-bye, boys,” he said. “Been fun knowin’ ya.”
    Four knives slit throats, and Sam reached down to help Gator as the bodies were removed from the road. “You all right?”
    “Yeah. Next time you can be the insane guy.”
    Sam grinned at him. “Do I look crazy to you? You’re so good at it.”
    “Get in the truck,” Ryland called.
    There were risks out in the open on the road, but it was far faster than “breaking brush”—walking in the jungle. As Kyle floored it, pushing the speed to cover miles, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Every mile passing was a mile closer to going home to Azami. For the first time in his life he actually had a reason to go home.
    They stayed as alert as possible with the pits in the road jarring them every few minutes. The rain fell in the same endless gray sheets, obscuring vision. At times the bald tires slid in the mud, sending them slamming into each other. They were packed like sardines in the back, but they weren’t walking.
    Three hours later, as they hit the top of a hill, the radiator began to steam and the engine abruptly seized.
    “Okay, boys,” Ryland said. “Time to put the LPCs back to use.”
    The men groaned and lifted their leather personal carriers out of the truck. Ryland laughed at them. “Too much good living. You’re all turning into pansies. The truck saved us over a hundred miles of walking and a few days on top of that, so stop your bellyaching. We’ve got twenty-three miles until we get to Matadi. Let’s get this sorry ass truck pushed over the edge so it looks like the abandoned wreck that it is. We need to get out of sight and make certain nobody saw us arrive.”
    After ascertaining they hadn’t been spotted, they traveled twenty klicks from the truck, set up security, and settled in to wait for nightfall.
    D uncan Forbes sank into his favorite seat at his favorite pub. “Whiskey.” He needed it. And he had a damn good reason to celebrate. Everything had gone to hell in the Congo, but he’d