The Magdalena Curse by F.G. Cottam Read Free Book Online Page A

world.’
    Hunter smiled back and nodded. Something conciliatory seemed pragmatic in the light of Peterson’s indignant fury.
    ‘What is it you British Army guys say? Home in time for tea and medals. That’s us, Captain Hunter, when this little task is completed. We take out the scum and we’ll be home in time for tea and medals.’
    ‘Amen,’ Hunter said. He got to his feet. His knees were sore from the jump. The coffee had had a diuretic effect. He looked around the gully they were in for somewhere he could pee in relative seclusion in what was now full daylight. Then he wanted to talk to the phantom from North Carolina who had ghosted into the hostile settlement without being detected. The boy had been debriefed already by the other two, no doubt. But Hunter liked his intelligence delivered first-hand, where possible. He did not like to run the risk of having anything lost in translation. They had a full twelve hours before night fell again and they would not move against their enemy until it did. They had ample time in which to map out a strategy. He would start with the Carolina ghost. Crucial elements of his own contribution to their plan of attack might well depend on what Hunter learned from him.
    ‘Mind?’ the boy asked, taking out a damp pad of chewing tobacco.
    The soldier seated on the ground in front of him was Private Abel Gaul. Given the wind direction and Gaul’s proven instinct for elusiveness, Hunter could think of no objection. He shook his head. Gaul smiled and tore off a wad with his fingers and inserted it between his teeth and his cheek. He grinned, his teeth strong and even and discoloured from the habit.
    ‘Ask away, Sir.’
    ‘The sentry you saw?’
    ‘Smelled him before I saw him, Captain. Smelled him even afore I heard him.’
    ‘Body odour?’
    ‘You might say.’
    ‘Describe the smell, Private.’
    ‘Rotten.’ Gaul spat tobacco juice.
    ‘Rotten how?’
    Gaul was blond and freckled across his nose, open faced and broad shouldered. But he was lithe and his battle fatigues draped loosely over his narrow hips and long limbs. He looked at the ground between them. He stroked his chin. He struggled to find the word. Hunter did not mind the delay in his responding. He was grateful the boy from the Carolinas was taking this so seriously.
    ‘Corrupt,’ Gaul said, eventually.
    ‘Was that not more likely to have been the dog? Could the dog not have had paw rot or distemper, or something?’
    ‘Nope,’ Gaul said. ‘Dog was healthy.’
    ‘What exactly do you mean by corrupt, Private?’
    ‘Rotten.’
    Hunter felt somewhat lost. ‘Like something dead?’
    ‘Worse than dead, Sir.’
    ‘Worse?’
    Gaul nodded. ‘Like something gone real bad,’ he said. ‘Like some dead thing neglected for a long time.’
    Hunter shifted position and looked over to where Rodriguez and two other men were field stripping three heavy calibre machine guns. In common with all American operations in Hunter’s experience, lightly armed meant armed to the teeth. They possessed enough fire power to mount a successful assault on a fortress. He flicked sweat from his eyebrows. It was hot despite the altitude. Gaul spat his greenish black, tobacco juice spit. Sitting there, cross-legged on the ground, he looked serene. Maybe, Hunter thought, it was just stupidity.
    ‘What did this sentry look like?’
    ‘He was white. He was as white as you and me. Bigger, though. Maybe running to three hundred pounds, and six-two or three, I’d reckon. Shaven-headed.’
    ‘Sounds like a biker.’
    ‘Nope.’ Gaul sounded emphatic. ‘Definitely wasn’t no biker.’
    ‘Or a wrestler.’
    ‘Nope. Weren’t no wrestler neither, Sir. Tatts were all wrong for either breed.’
    ‘He was tattooed?’
    ‘Heavily. Across the face and neck. Elsewhere his skin was concealed by his clothing. I couldn’t catch clear sight of his hands. Fist holding the dog leash could have been inked too, but I couldn’t be sure. Could have