CHAPTER 28

Niassa Game Reserve

Mozambique, Africa

May

FLAT TIRES WERE AN everyday occurrence, so common that Reece and his two trackers acted like a NASCAR pit crew as soon as they felt the tire go. The Land Cruiser pickup carried two spares mounted on each side of the tubular safari rack above the truck’s bed, and they were about to use the second spare of the day. Reece glanced at his watch and gave both men the “go. ” They seemed to understand far more English than they spoke, and, though they’d probably never seen an auto race, they quickly caught on to the fact that Reece had turned this mundane exercise into a game.

Reece retrieved the Hi-Lift farm jack from the front bumper while Solomon loosened the lug nuts on the flat and Gona wrestled the spare wheel down from the rack. Reece got the jack in place on top of a flat rock and began pumping the wounded pickup skyward. The tire had barely cleared the ground when the flat was removed and the fresh wheel was mounted. The three men labored swiftly and without words, teamwork born of several months working together closely in this remote wilderness.

Reece lowered the jack and the tire hit the ground, calling out the time: “Two minutes, forty-five seconds. A new record. ”

Both trackers beamed as they all shook hands.

Their celebration was broken by the sound of gunfire, a three-round burst that, to Reece, had the unmistakable report of an AKM. The only AKs in the block belonged to the government game scouts who accompanied the hunting parties, and they would be dozens of miles from Reece’s location according to their last radio call. The shots could have come from only one source—poachers. Reece reached into the rack behind the cab of the pickup and slid his rifle out of the soft zippered case that protected it from the elements. He retracted the bolt slightly and confirmed that a round was in the chamber before closing the bolt and checking the safety. He opened the flap on his leather belt pouch and was satisfied to see the five massive brass cartridges gleaming in the East African sunlight. He took the Motorola two-way radio from his belt and attempted to call back to base camp.

“Base, this is James, over. Base, this is James, do you read me? ” No response, just static. Shit.

“Base, this is James. If you can hear me we’ve got full-auto gunfire just south of the Lugenda River near the boulders, moving to take a look. ” Reece turned down the volume on his radio and took a deep breath.

He nodded to his trackers and pointed toward the sound of the shots. Without hesitation, all three men moved at a light jog down the red dirt track. Even after working with them for months, Reece was constantly in awe of their tracking skills. Not only could they follow a track over hard ground, they could often do it at a running pace. Solomon’s finger pointed toward the ground, and he took a left turn into the miombo forest. As they entered the bush, they slowed to a walking pace and moved as stealthily as possible. No words were spoken. Reece could read the men’s body language at this point, and hand signals would cover any needed communication. They moved in single file down a narrow game path, Solomon in the lead, Gona behind him, and Reece taking up the rear.

They worked just as they had when scouting game animals for their outfitter: each man had specific responsibilities. Solomon was the point man who led the way and kept an eye out for any sign on the ground; his eyes were primarily directed downward. Gona kept his head up and searched for any visual sign of life, animal or human. Reece supervised the tracking, provided cover, handled communications with their base camp, and made the command decisions when necessary. It was just like the old days back in the Teams.

Solomon slowed the pace and all three men crouched as they walked to lower their profile. He stopped and squatted at the edge of a clearing, and Reece moved up quietly to kneel beside him. The tracker nodded toward the source of the gunfire: four poachers, two of them armed with AKs and the other two with small axes. All four were surrounding the blood-soaked carcass of an elephant on its side, a cow from the looks of it. The men were close to eighty yards away, too far away to hear any voices, but their body language told the tale. One of the men wielding a rifle was motioning toward the ax men, letting them know how he wanted the ivory cut loose. Reece’s plan was to observe the crime and keep track of the poachers while he worked to gain radio contact and wait for the game scouts. Getting into a gunfight in a third-world country as a wanted man was not part of the plan.

Reece retrieved a small digital camera from the pocket of his shorts and extended the optical zoom as far as possible. He was too far away to get any good facial shots, but any photos would be better than nothing when it came to building a criminal case. He took a few pictures and was putting the camera back in his pocket when he heard a crashing sound to his left. He turned in time to see a gray blur coming toward them along with a loud screaming sound. Calf!

The dead cow obviously had a young calf and the little guy was doing his best to avenge his mother’s death. The calf, which easily weighed five hundred pounds, was heading directly for Gona. The three men scattered to avoid the charging animal, their movement catching the attention of the poachers. Gunfire erupted across the clearing and Reece heard the unmistakable crack of high-velocity rifle rounds passing just over his head.

“Get down! ” he yelled, diving to the ground and flipping the safety catch on his. 404 to FIRE. Lying on his side, he put the silver sight bead on the closest poacher and pressed the trigger without conscious thought. The big bullet found its mark with an audible slap and Reece rolled to his right while working the bolt to reload. He made his way to his feet and, in a crouch, ran to his right to flank the remaining gunman, who he could still hear firing in long bursts. Taking cover six feet behind the trunk of a large tree, Reece worked to get a visual angle on his next target. He saw a lone figure kneeling near the elephant’s head, struggling to change magazines on his rifle. Reece dropped down to one knee, took an extra second to be sure of his aim, and sent a 400-grain solid through the man’s chest. The man dropped instantly, his rifle and magazine falling into the dust in front of him. Reece saw no sign of the two men armed with axes but could see both AKs on the ground, so he was reasonably sure that they hadn’t armed themselves to mount a counterattack. Head count, he thought, racing back toward where he’d last seen his trackers.

His heart sank when he saw Gona leaning over Solomon, who was covered in blood. Reece unzipped the wounded man’s olive jumpsuit and quickly identified two bullet wounds, one to the upper chest and one to the abdomen. He gently rolled him over and determined that there was an exit wound on his back from the chest wound, but not one from the abdominal hit. Solomon was conscious but obviously struggling to breathe.

“Gona, run back to the truck and get the aid kit. The red bag, hurry! ”

Gona took off at a dead run toward the truck as Reece tried to calm his wounded friend.

“You’re gonna be fine, buddy. We’ll get you to a doctor. ”

Reece grabbed the Motorola and turned the volume up before keying the mic. “Base, this is James, over! ” Nothing. “Base, this is James. Solomon has been shot. I say again, Solomon has been shot, over! ” No response. “Breathe, buddy, relax and breathe. ”

Solomon’s eyes were wide as he struggled for breath. Reece knew that he needed to get the wound sealed up fast. On a deployment, he would have had the tools to provide immediate aid with a blowout kit secured to his gear, but here he had to wait for Gona to return with the bag, wasting precious seconds. Rifle in hand, Reece rose to a squat to peek above the low brush where Solomon was lying and confirmed that the clearing was still devoid of life. He heard movement behind him and spun his muzzle around to see Gona sprinting through the brush with the aid bag, dropping it at Reece’s feet. Reece handed him the rifle; Gona couldn’t drive but he was good with a gun. Without saying a word, the man took off at a jog, skirting the woods on the right side of the clearing to locate the two surviving poachers.

“Stay with me, Solomon. This is going to help you breathe. ”

Reece unzipped the aid bag and dug around until he found an Asherman Chest Seal. He wiped Solomon’s chest with a gauze pad before tearing open the package and placing the adhesive seal on his chest. He rolled his tracker and repeated the process on the exit wound. Reece found a 2. 5-inch needle and laid it on top of the Asherman on Solomon’s chest. Then, locating a spot above the wound, between the first and second rib, Reece held his left finger on the spot and, with the needle held in his right fist, stabbed it into the chest cavity. He heard a hissing sound and watched with relief as Solomon was able to take a breath. When the hissing stopped, he removed the needle and laid it back on the bandage.

The breathing situation handled for now, Reece searched the bag until he found a large dressing. There was a small section of bowel herniating out of the abdominal wound that needed to be addressed. Reece used his fingers to spread the wound and moved the abdomen from side to side as he gently eased the exposed intestine back inside. The wound wasn’t bleeding much, so Reece was hopeful that the bullet hadn’t hit the liver. He covered it with the large dressing and wrapped the attached Ace-style bandage around Solomon’s body until the dressing was secure.

“How’s your breathing? ” Reece asked.

“Water, Shamwari. I must have water. ”

Reece knew that putting fluid into the man’s body could blow out any clots that were forming on his abdominal wound.

“I can’t give you water right now. We’ve got to get you to a hospital. ”

Reece tried the radio again, without success. Damn it.

The closest medical facility was the clinic at Montepuez. They were two hours from the clinic and two hours from the airstrip at base camp. With solid comms, Reece could call back to the camp manager and have a MARS flight on its way to meet them, but, as it was, he couldn’t be certain that taking Solomon back to base wouldn’t add hours before treatment. Reece speculated that Solomon would survive the two-hour ride to the hospital, but he wasn’t sure that he’d survive waiting around for a plane that might take all day to arrive. With Gona unable to drive, Reece would have to deliver him to the hospital, which meant he’d be seen. Gunshot wounds meant police, and police meant questions. Still, there wasn’t even a choice; Solomon was a good man. They’d become teammates, and Reece wasn’t going to let one of his men die to protect his cover.

He whistled to Gona, and they prepared Solomon for travel.

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