Sword of Allah by David Rollins Read Free Book Online Page A

titan had taken a giant bucket of greenery and splashed it into the valley, the foliage sluicing up the mountainsides towards them. Muruk’s village could be seen clearly, appearing like a sloppy crop circle cut into the vegetation by drunken aliens.
    Muruk and Timbu chatted briefly in the village dialect.
    ‘Muruk apologises for the cold,’ said Timbu, ‘but says going this way will slice half a day from the trek.’
    ‘Hamas taim long go long?’ asked Beck, who was starting to pick up a few words of pidgin. How far to go?
    ‘Klostu liklik,’ said Muruk.
    Beck nodded, but obviously with no idea of what the boy had said.
    ‘He said, literally translated, “fairly near”. But around here, normal concepts of distance don’t mean much. We might still be walking this time tomorrow and Muruk will still be saying, “klostu liklik”,’ said Timbu.
    Littlemore swigged some water from a flask. Ellis pulled a fleece from his pack. Beck shrugged. ‘Well, tell Muruk we’re enjoying the walk anyway.’
    ‘Sweet,’ said Muruk, smiling broadly, again taking everyone completely by surprise.
    ‘He says he doesn’t understand English – picks up on the sentiment. But I think maybe he’s having us all on,’ Timbu said, patting the boy on the shoulder.
    The wind was up on the high exposed ridge, adding a chill that made it uncomfortable to stand still, yet Muruk appeared unaffected by either the altitude or the cold. Wilkes wondered if the young man felt the elements the way he did, or whether the hard life in the bush had inured him against them.
    The jungle on the far side of the ridge was no different to the bush around Muruk’s village, but the young man moved through it far more carefully. This was not his turf, so it paid to be cautious. It was late afternoon before Muruk called a halt to the march. They stood amongst a stand of trees and ferns and towering marijuana plants with heads as thick as a man’s wrist, covered in the characteristic red hairs of the local variety.
    ‘Wow,’ said Ellis, examining a plant. ‘There’s a shitload of short-term memory loss here.’
    There was no order to the plantings that Wilkes could see. Handfuls of seeds had probably been thrown here but, other than that, the stuff was growing wild. And it was everywhere. Muruk spoke with Timbu, who then turned to Wilkes: ‘Muruk wants to find a place to bed down overnight. He doesn’t want to get too close to the village in the dark – we may be discovered. He says this is a good place to stay. The plants are not harvested at night.’
    ‘So we’re close?’ Wilkes asked.
    Timbu nodded.
    ‘Em ples – em i longwe o nogat?’ Wilkes asked Muruk directly. The village – how far is it?
    The boy held up a finger, indicating an hour.
    ‘I want to use the night for cover – see our gunrunning friends in action,’ said Wilkes.
    ‘Yes, but don’t you think…?’
    Sergeant Wilkes pulled a pair of NVGs from his pack and handed the binocular device to Timbu. ‘I’m not suggesting we go there stumbling around blind,’ he said.
    Timbu turned the unusual device over in his hands. ‘Hey, seen these in the movies,’ he said. ‘How do they work?’
    Wilkes held out his hand and Timbu returned the NVGs. ‘There are different types. This is two in one. It can be used as a low-light accentuator that gathers the available light and strengthens it. Or, flick this switch,’ he said, depressing a heavily rubberised button, ‘and it will emit its own light, painting the area ahead. You only use this mode when you’re sure the bad guys aren’t wearing them too, because they’ll also be able to see this light source.’
    Timbu put the NVGs on over his head and tried to focus them. The lenses glowed iridescent green. ‘Can’t see a thing,’ he said.
    ‘’Cause it’s still daylight – too much light.’
    Timbu looked like some kind of bug-eyed alien with them on, his coils of thick black hair standing out between the head straps and