Free Manus Xingue by Jack Challis

Edwards.
    â€˜Well fuck me gently,’ replies the Sergeant. ‘Chevez has been playing with us! This is not going to be a quick operation. Henry was right – Chevez and the Kier Verde have more tricks than a cart-load of monkeys! While the two Kier Verde sat here and had a smoke, Chevez nipped back and took a look at us – while we were on the river-bank!’
    â€˜What about the birds, Sarge?’ asks Lacy.
    â€˜The birds only took flight when Chevez got up to leave .’
    â€˜Gordon Bennett!’ Lacy exclaims. ‘Chevez could have drilled me straight through the head. Why didn’t he?’
    â€˜I will tell you why ,’ says Taffy Edwards, ‘because Chevez didn’t know who we were or who we were after.’
    â€˜Well, he bloody well knows now!’ answers Dublin. ‘We best watch our backs!’
    Indian Joe, after scouting short way ahead, returns and snorts a line of coke. ‘Bloody hell, Sarge,’ whispers Lacy, ‘he’ll be through that lot like a dose of salts at this rate. What happens when he goes cold turkey?’
    â€˜I have two more packets,’ says Kane.
    â€˜I don’t like the sound of that,’ remarks Lacy. ‘What if you run out before we get Chevez?’
    â€˜And now I see through a light glass darkly,’ replies the Sergeant.
    â€˜What does that mean, Sarge?’ Lacy asks.
    â€˜It means my crystal ball is covered in shit!’ Kane replies.

CHAPTER SIX
AN ANGRY BABA AMARILLO
    Indian Joe returns. ‘Chevez go this way,’ reports Indian Joe. ‘Not use trail.’ The SAS troopers follow Indian Joe towards the jungle. The tracks of Chevez and the Kier Verde are plainly visible in the soft riverbank mud. After a hundred metres, the tracks completely disappear! They meet a solid wall of jungle.
    ‘Bloody Nora!’ Edwards swears. ‘Chevez couldn’t have gone through this lot without disturbing it – it’s a false trail.’
    Indian Joe studies the tracks carefully, then gives a demonstration of what happened. The cocaine addict walks forward leaving his tracks. Then, carefully walking backwards while facing forwards, he skilfully places his feet in the exactly the same footprints. ‘It’s a simple trick Chevez knew we would solve,’ comments Kane, ‘but why did he want us here?’
    ‘I think we should back up, Jim,’ warns Taffy Edwards looking around concerned. ‘It could be a trap!’
    The SAS troopers slowly back away, covering their withdrawal. Edwards’ body brushes against a branch, chest-high….there’s a hiss – a snake strikes the Welshman in the chest!
    ‘Bloody Hell,’ gasps Edwards, turning pale and looking at the hissing snake. ‘It’s a Fer de Lance!’
    The four SAS troopers look in disbelief at the live, venomous snake. It had been deliberately attached to the branch with a vine pushed painfully through its body – a living, very angry, booby trap!
    ‘It’s got me good and proper, Frank! In the chest – the worst place,’ groans Edwards, sinking to the ground.
    ‘Keep calm, mate,’ advises Dublin. ‘It will slow the poison spreading.’
    ‘Fuck my poxy luck!’ swears Edwards. ‘I think a fang has punctured an artery!’
    ‘It could have been a dry bite mate,’ Dublin comforts.
    ‘Dry bite, my arse!’ Edwards replies. ‘I can feel the poison spreading!’
    Indian Joe kills the snake with his machete. Grinning, he exclaims, ‘Baba Amarillo – bad poison – Edwards morto – mucho rapido.’ The indian tracker then draws his hand over his throat.
    ‘Bloody Job’s comforter, you are,’ says Kane, who then motions Lacy over. ‘Taffy is a goner, Sarge,’ whispers Lacy. ‘The snake has bitten him right by his strawberry . I will give him a Bothrops polyvalent injection. Half round the puncture marks and the other half between the wound and the heart. I hate giving injections.’
    ‘You’re our medic,’ snaps the Sergeant. ‘Get the fuck on with it, you