On the riverside of promise (10 page)

“Come out now and I won’t hurt the sisters.
I’ll let you and them live, just as soon as I get what I came for.
You and I both know I want the-”. His voice became little more than
a gurgle as his head exploded violently, pieces of shrapnel from
his skull flying away in all directions. His body fell backwards
from the overwhelming force of the bullet, the AK falling off his
limp hand on the ground with a thud.

Ethan’s eyes were scanning for the shooter
while his hands instinctively went for his gun. He was already
moving towards the cover of the nearby arches. There was no hope in
hell that he’d talk his way out of this: for one thing, he didn’t
even speak that damnable dialect and for another, they were already
letting off a blind hail of bullets at the mud-and-hay brick walls
of the monastery, trying for the shooter. All they accomplished
though was leave behind large pockmarks on the walls, splintered
doors and spent bullet casings.

The bandits shouted at each other, confused
and dismayed. Some looked like they were itching to just shoot the
sisters dead. One of them cried something like a war shout and let
off a single round that went through one of the nuns like a hammer
through ice. The bullet took apart almost her whole left side;
blood, bone and guts spilled freely through tattered robes. She
crumbled like a rag doll on the dirt before the church gate,
twitches and spasms running through her body. Her dying throes were
little more than a wet cough, deafeningly loud among the silence of
the sisters.

A man with a beret knocked some teeth out of
the shooter with his rifle’s stock, rendering him unconscious. The
rest fired off wild shots at windows, more or less blindly.

The sisters started to weep. The mother
superior held her cross in hand, tears running down her cheek;
still she whispered the dead sister’s rites softly in her ear.

Another gunshot was heard; it missed a bandit
on the back of one of the Rovers by an inch. The ricochet bullet
grazed him behind one ear and caused him to fall on his back down
on the ground.

Ethan was now working on instinct and
training alone; he would pick his targets, going in for the kill.
He pulled out his gun and rushed towards the Rover parked in front
of the sisters and the church. He silently thanked God and his good
fortune that Yuembe and his men had fallen for the journalist
trick, sloppy enough not to bother actually checking him for
weapons.

One of Yuembe’s men saw him appearing behind
one of the arches, purposefully coming towards them. He pointed
with one hand and shouted a warning, instead of shooting. Two
rounds went through the bandit, and threw him off his feet a couple
of feet away. The shots left his chest in ruins; his lungs and
heart a ruptured mess.

Ethan switched targets and went for one of
the men wearing a beret. He let another couple of rounds fly, the
Browning nine millimeter pulsating in his double-action grip with
body-shaking force. Years of experience and shooting training
brought Ethan’s aim lower to compensate for the recoil; aim
slightly below center of mass, double-tap the trigger, swing the
body and aim another. Repeat. It was as easy as riding a bike if
one didn’t stop to think about the killing involved.

As he swung to take down another one, there
was a sharp whizzing sound. He felt a hot rush of air near the back
of his head. He turned around to look and saw to his right a man
down on the ground, trying to grasp his neck with both hands. He
was bleeding profusely, his legs flailing wildly as spurts of blood
turned into a red fuzzy mist through his fingers.

The shooter was good; a professional from the
looks of it. He had probably just saved his life, but there wasn’t
time for allowing the thought to cloud his senses. Another bandit
appeared from behind a half-wrecked window and let off a ripple of
bullets from his AK. He kept shouting like a crazed madman while
shooting, aiming at nowhere in particular; the kick of the AK sent
the bullets plainly at the old, pitted and stained tiled roof,
breaking away and chipping whole sections.

Still firing away and before emptying his
clip, he was blown back by the force of two bullets, one hitting
him square in the stomach and another in his chest. If his heart
didn’t stop outright, he’d have time enough to meet God when his
gut wound ate his insides.

The sisters were busy untying themselves
amidst the confusion. They rushed to the inside of the temple,
trying to carry their dead sister with a modicum of decency. They
lifted her up, hugging her spilled entrails in their lap.

As they did so, their former captors and
guards let off another hail of fire from their AKs trying to take
Ethan down; they were controlled, but badly aimed bursts. Yuembe
would have probably made good soldiers out of them if it wasn’t for
their horrid aim and their complete lack of cover discipline.

Out in the open with every part of their body
exposed and firing from the hip, their chances of hitting Ethan
laying dirt-low behind a series of arches, were slim if not none.
Their chances became zero when a bullet went through one of them in
the shoulder; the exit wound was the size of a basketball, turning
his spine into a shredded ruin.

The other one of the pair knelt and raised
his rifle to take aim at the direction of the shooter. Ethan rolled
out of cover and popped three shots at him; one caught him in the
leg, tearing up his calf. Another one hit the dirt and the last one
went through his armpit and neck, cutting an artery open. It left
him a dying man, unable to even flinch at the scorching sun casting
its glare at his fading eyes.

Ethan leaped to his feet again and rushed
towards the sisters and the church, attracting a very unhealthy
amount of fire from the west wing of the monastery. The bandits
that had been on search detail there were now laying down covered,
taking pot shots whenever they thought it was prudent. The shooter
had put real fear in their hearts.

A couple of those who had left their guns
behind to carry sacks and crates tried to make a run towards the
Rovers for their AKs. One of them fell stone dead, leg-first, as if
he’d hit his head while running, another excellent shot from the
unknown shooter. His mortal wound was remarkably clean; the bullet
had went straight through the heart, imploding it and settling down
the exit velocity to a lot less damaging value. The other one just
dashed towards a low-walled flower fence and jumped over, creeping
away back into a semblance of adequate cover.

Ethan went past the church’s entrance and saw
the sisters hugging around the body of the dead nun. He grabbed the
mother superior by one arm, while she was clearly paying no
attention to her surroundings, her face deathly pale, her eyes
without focus. Instinctively she tried to shake him off. He caught
her stare and tried to convey a sense of calm. Panic wouldn’t get
them anywhere; it could only lead to senseless death. He told her
then while stray shots seemed to edge dangerously close judging by
the plaster and chipped wood flying around them:

“Lie down, and spread around. Throw the
benches for cover. And pray, sister!”

She nodded then as if magically awaken from a
deep slumber. He couldn’t help noticing her wrinkled, bloodied face
looked strangely attractive for someone her age and stature. Ethan
bowed his head to her hand and whispered “’er grace,’” and then
carried along. He stood for a few moments by the temple door. When
he heard the distinctive bolt-action gunshot of the mysterious
shooter he decided to sprint away to a better location; one of the
Rovers.

He placed three shots at the windows up on
high on the western edge while running. He wasn’t hoping on
actually hitting anything, but he was sure these guys would
instinctively duck when they heard the shots, sparing him a
precious couple of seconds to make a more or less safe passage.
He’d heard the gun go empty; he’d need a chance to reload soon.

When he reached the Rover, he saw the flash
of a scope barely visible near the church bell tower. He couldn’t
make out who it was; the sun was still rising directly behind him,
blinding those who dared to take a shot. Clever, natural cover.
Still, down on the courtyard from near the makeshift hospital, two
more of the late Major Yuembe’s men appeared, firing on full auto
towards the bell tower as they went.

Those on the western dormitories felt like
contributing, so they popped out of their covers and placed single
shots against the bell tower, rather blindly. The shooter let one
shot fly; the cracking echo of the bolt-action came right after the
thud of the dead body on the ground. But no other shots
followed.

Ethan peeked from behind the Rover; the other
man was still on the courtyard, nervously trying to find cover
while surveying the rooftop for the shooter. Those on the west side
had no clear target, and decided to take their chances at
Ethan.

He switched the empty clip with a new full
one; if this kept for much longer he’d need to pick one of the AKs
lying all around for himself. A cacophony of bullets ricocheting
off thick metal engulfed him; the Rover’s thick chassis was as good
a cover as any. It wasn’t impervious, but it was good enough for
such a tight spot. Maybe half a dozen men took shots at him from
the western dormitories; perhaps more lurked somewhere in the
eastern wing. Worse still, the unknown shooter had been forced to
reposition. Less cover for him then for another couple of
minutes.

Ethan slithered slowly towards the front of
the Rover. The engine block would provide better cover. As he did
so, he kept his gun trained towards the eastern rooms. If a head or
a gun popped from somewhere out there, he’d simply squeeze the
trigger.

He then suddenly saw the one that had come
running towards the bell tower underneath the first Rover, trying
to aim his AK at him while flat on the dirt. Ethan thought he saw
him grinning but he wasn’t sure; he simply brought his Browning in
front of him and fired three shots in rapid succession; the man let
off his own shot but the sight of Ethan’s gun alone opposite him
was enough to let his aim stray.

Still, the bullet grazed Ethan slightly over
his left shoulder; his third shot went wild and punctured a tire.
The second and first though went through the man’s neck and spine.
He lay there under the Rover, paralyzed and bleeding, choking on
his own blood.

A small pin-prick of a flash made Ethan turn
around, gun in hand ready to shoot. As the blinding light turned
away from his face for a moment, he saw more clearly now the
unknown shooter. The gun was an M1903 bolt-action, sniper variant
with scope. And the shooter was, much to Ethan’s surprise, no-one
else but Nicole, now standing in front of the infirmary.

He didn’t have time to think about that
revelation for long; another hail of wild gunfire forced her aside,
behind a thick wide arch. He heard indistinct shouts in that
unknown dialect, and then more gunshots were heard. None of them
landed anywhere near him or Nicole. He sacrificed some cover for a
better view, quickly scanning for targets. He couldn’t see any. He
decided to make a move then. He shouted:

“Nicole! Cover me!”

He sprang up then and ran without aiming his
gun. He just ran towards the west wing; a single shot was heard.
One of the bandits wanted to take the opportunity against Ethan,
but Nicole’s aim had proven a lethal discouragement for Yuembe's
men.

When Ethan reached the low-walled fence, he
jumped over it and rolled sideways. He scanned aft and fore and saw
no-one. The Rovers were still sitting there, half-loaded with the
caravan’s supplies. Behind him, a flimsy wooden staircase led to
the upper floor. There were pools of blood dripping down the
staircase, and traces of wounded bodies being drawn inside
rooms.

He looked in Nicole’s direction. She was
giving him a thumbs up. He went inside each room methodically,
pushing the door open and then peeking inside before rushing inside
in a crouch. He saw bodies of Yuembe’s men. Most were shot in the
back. Two of them had shot each other, their bodies laying against
opposite walls. It seemed to Ethan like the paper-thin veneer of
what little camaraderie and professionalism these bandits seemed to
exhibit crumbled when Yuembe’s head got blown off. Their panic and
their petty squabbles had undone them completely. Some might’ve
fled on foot, but they’ve left no reason behind to return.

The search on the upper rooms yielded the
bodies of those who had felt lucky or proficient enough to take
down Ethan or Nicole. When he felt it was safe, Ethan shouted from
an open window to Nicole, “All clear!”. She gave a thumbs up and
disappeared back into the infirmary.

What a firefight, Ethan thought while
overlooking the courtyard from that higher vantage point. He began
counting bodies without even being conscious of it and then he saw
one of the bodies actually moving towards the church with a gun in
hand. He raised his gun to aim clearly and fired away without his
usual control; the bandit though still had time enough to let off a
ripple of fire before the bullets struck home.

He slumped down on his knees and fell face
down on the dirt, blood oozing around him. Ethan ran down the
staircase shouting at the top of his lungs:

“Nicole! Check the church!”