Sword of Allah by David Rollins Read Free Book Online

then Wilkes took another look at the innocent faces around him and knew he was doing the right thing. Okay, so there was no way he and his men could single-handedly stop the flood of modern weaponry into these hills, but maybe they could discoversomething that would make this exercise worthwhile, even if just for this one village.
    Muruk approached the Australians and shook each man’s hand in turn, learning their names as he went. The boy’s grip was strong. He said something to Wilkes, who then looked helplessly at Timbu. ‘He said he’s packed and ready to go now,’ said the interpreter.
    ‘Good,’ Wilkes said.
    ‘Rockin’,’ said Muruk.
    Wilkes and Timbu blinked wide-eyed at the young man.
    ‘Radio,’ said Muruk by way of explanation as he ran off to one side and picked up a bilum, a shoulder bag made from woven grasses.
    ‘Jesus,’ said Beck, who’d caught all this. ‘Bloody Elvis has a lot to bloody answer for, don’t he?’
    Muruk returned and Timbu said an official goodbye on behalf of them all. The chief and the rest of the village waved, and kept waving right up until they followed Muruk into the jungle. A dozen paces into the thick ground cover and Wilkes turned to look behind him. The village had gone, hidden utterly from view. Timbu had been right. Within a few short steps, the jungle had swallowed them so completely it was if they’d journeyed into it for days.
    Sounds filled Sergeant Wilkes’s ears – a chorus of birds, crickets, geckoes, the swish of lizards and snakes slithering through grass. He breathed deeply, taking in the wet heat he knew so well. The combination of jungle smells and sounds combined to send an unexpected shiver up his spine. Wilkes was suddenly reminded of his troop’s mostrecent mission into the centre of Sulawesi, where they’d rescued the survivors of a downed Qantas plane. There, they’d come up against the Kopassus, Indonesia’s infamous special forces troops. The mission had been successful, but it had also been murderous and two of his men had been killed. Until then, Wilkes had embraced the jungle completely, welcoming it as a second home. But now the press of wet leaves, the razor grass and the three levels of canopy overhead also held brutal memories that forced their way into his dreams and made him wake to the sound of his own screams. Virgin jungle was a place of death, of destruction, revealing its secrets only when it had worn down the mind and left it vulnerable. Sergeant Wilkes took a deep breath and shook his head: get a grip on yourself, pal – come unglued afterwards, when you’re sitting on that beach with Belle.
    An hour later, Tom Wilkes was feeling more like his old self. The notion that the jungle had some kind of malevolent consciousness had receded and he was starting to enjoy the walk. The deep bush of the New Guinea highlands was a botanist’s delight, with orchids everywhere, and of every colour: purple, yellow, white and red. They flowered on the ground and in the trees. Some were large and some small. Some were openly parasitic, their delicate white tendrils tapped into the life force of host trees and shrubs; some apparently taking nutrients from the air itself. And all the while, the infinite diversity of song rang out from a spectacular range of birds of paradise, their intensely coloured plumage visible from a considerable distance. It had been too long since Tom had been in the jungle just for the pure joy of it. Okay, the environmentheld its dangers, but at least this time one of them wasn’t camouflaged enemy special forces. And that was a pleasant change.
    Muruk took them along paths that were hidden by the jungle, the byways rather than the highways. The climb over the ridge was relatively easy with no need for ropes or pitons, but the altitude, well over three thousand metres, left them breathless. Standing on the top of the ridge, Sergeant Wilkes looked back towards the village. The view was spectacular, as if some