Manus Xingue Read Online Free PDF Page B

into the jungle behind. From a small packet, he tips a line of white powder onto the back of his hand – and snorts it.
    Suddenly, the Marpari turns, hearing a noise from behind. He sees a gruesome-looking, wild, naked indian with black-filed teeth and a ceremonial-scarred face – it is Manus Xingue!
    Attached to Manus Xingue’s fibre belt are three grinning, shrunken skulls complete with hair – two redheads and a blond – all with blue eyes!
    The Marpari is terrified; a long barbed arrow pulled taught in a bow is pointing at his chest. Manus Xingue rapidly questions the Marpari in a native tongue – the only recognisable words, ‘Chevez and Mendoza’, are often heard.
    The terrified Marpari draws in the damp earth with a stick, explaining something. Satisfied, Manus Xingue dismisses the Marpari – after snatching the small packet of white powder from him. The Marpari leaves with nervous backward glances – as he passes a tree, a long barbed arrow transfixes him to its trunk!
    Manus Xingue tips some white powder on the back of his hand, snorts it and grins. Drawing his machete, he walks up to the transfixed Marpari and lifts the helpless tracker’s right arm!
    One kilometre down the logging road, a US Humvee speeds along. The rising clouds of dust caused by the vehicle almost conceal the fact that men and packs are dropping from it at intervals.
    The first out is Sgt Kane; rolling, he quickly picks up his Bergen and disappears into the jungle edge. Under cover, Kane hears something crashing noisily towards him. He covers the movement with his rifle; it is vital the many tree fellers do not see the SAS men and alert the Brazilian troops, jeopardizing the whole operation. In such instances, any intruder has to be killed! Jack Lacy appears through the foliage, bright eyed and bushy tailed, smiling and rubbing his arse.
    ‘You stupid, noisy cowson,’ hisses Kane, ‘I could hear you a bloody mile off – didn’t you learn anything?’
    Jack Lacy ignores the rebuff. ‘Gordon Bennett, Sarge! I think I’ve broken my poxy tailbone!’
    ‘The only sympathy you will find in the SAS, lad, is in a dictionary, between shit and syphilis ,’ replies Kane.
    ‘It’s all right for you ex-Paras, dropping from moving vehicles,’ grumbles Lacy, sitting on his Bergen and rolling a cigarette. ‘I am sure that bastard Yank put his foot down when I jumped!’
    Jack Lacy is a good-looking Cockney, a six-foot tall, blue-eyed blond – lithely, muscular. ‘Where are Taffy and the Turk?’ Lacy asks.
    ‘Don’t let Dublin hear you call him a Turk – he’ll knock your railings out! Dublin doesn’t like Cockneys – especially mouthy ones like you.’
    ‘He’ll have to catch me first,’ replies Lacy, grinning.
    ‘Don’t make enemies – a lot of old scores can be settled in action.’
    ‘I hope so!’ answers Lacy, the grin gone.
    ‘What!’ Kane exclaims.
    ‘If I ever find my interrogator, the silent one,’ says Lacy, ‘I will kill him!’
    ‘Forget it, lad,’ counsels Sgt Kane, ‘interrogation is part of Selection.’
    ‘He was killing me, Sarge!’ Lacy answers.
    ‘Look – forget it. That’s an order!’
    Lacy cheers up. ‘One good thing, Sarge, we don’t have a Jock in our team.’
    ‘What’s wrong with the Scots?’
    ‘They scare me, Sarge,’ Lacy replies, ‘especially when they have been on the turps . There should be a sign as you enter Scotland – “ Englishmen – beware! Beyond here – there be aggressive alcoholics”.’
    ‘The Jocks are bloody great soldiers. They got us English out of many a tight corner,’ says Kane. ‘Now shut your bloody gob – I can’t hear myself think!’
    Edwards and Dublin, 21 SAS, silently appear. Edwards, the more intelligent of the two, is a tall, thin Welshman with sharp features and coal scars. Dublin, a Wexford man, is dark and hairy, powerfully built with the bone structure and the patience of a Neanderthal. Both are good, experienced troopers; calm in