F. Eugene Barber
Sergeant Sammy Ito, a skilled sniper, has been assigned as part of a covert agency fighting the endless battle with the drug cartels of South and Central America. He has become an expert on jungle survival. This novel is a continuation of DEAD RINGER and focuses on the current political changes in four South American countries. The story has both excitement and romance--plus a bit of history.
F. Eugene Barber has written several short stories and novels. He served in the Air Force during the Korean War as a B-36 mechanic and Crew Chief. Using the GI Bill, he earned an AS in engineering, a BA, and an MBA. He has worked in Aerospace all of his adult life and is a consultant on FAA and DOD projects. His last DOD assignment was at the Flight Test Center—Edwards AFB in 2005.
Mr. Barber has worked and traveled all over the world; both North and South America, Europe, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Siberia, South Africa, China, Korea, Japan, and Australia. He and his wife now reside in Nevada.
Hyrum dropped the range finder’s red laser light on the coat of the big man getting out of the back seat. Hy focused. A guard was holding the limo door and someone was getting out on the other side—a woman.
Hy whispered, “Sammy! 13 point 7 and it’s 281.4 meters to target.”
Sammy relaxed his hold on the M-24 and adjusted the knurled knob slightly on the Leupold© scope. Hyrum wiped the rain off Sammy’s forehead with a green rag; Sammy held his breath and fired. There was only a slight ‘shooop’ sound and a light puff of smoke, dissipating in the rain.
The big man slowly fell. Sammy and Hy tossed some of their equipment into the wet jungle, but Sammy hung onto the rifle and the ammo. The murky jungle and the plush shrubs and vines would hide the equipment for a few hours—at least until daylight. They moved rapidly towards the muddy road.
Lightning and then deafening claps of thunder—the jungle around them lit up—the noise was horrific—flash after flash. Their footprints could be seen in the mud when there was a lightning flash. They had no choice. Sammy and Hy ran sloppily and as fast as they could.
The three guardas were momentarily perplexed. Why was the Colonel squatting down? Then one saw the blood forming on Colonel Lucero’s white shirt. The middle-aged woman screamed!
Lucero had just unbuttoned his military styled tuxedo after eating and drinking too much during the big party at the Casa de Rincon. ‘General von Dolmetscher gave too long of a toast, but Colonel Salazar certainly knew how to throw a party’ were his last thoughts.
The limo driver yelled, “Atencion Guardas! Jefe Coronel Lucero—esta muerto!”
Two more raingear-dressed guards appeared in the large opening of the barn—running—waving their weapons excitedly.
The drug cartel chief did indeed appear to be dead. The woman was on her knees in the mud—holding the Colonel’s head. Bloody fizz came with his last breath. In the excitement one of the guardas was unconsciously standing on her long dress—one kneeled beside her—she let out a low, keening moan and tumbled into his arms. Her pinned dress wouldn’t let her stand up.
Sammy and Hy could hear voices and noises behind them. The river was in sight. They dove through the reeds and bushes for the portable rowboat at the riverbank. It was gone!
The river had risen over two feet during the heavy downpour in the low mountains and valleys upstream—the watershed that fed the river basin. The small tree had been uprooted from the stream’s pressure on the rowboat’s line. The little boat was drifting away and nearly out of sight around the bend—slowly dragging the small, floating tree behind.
“Into the water Hy. We’ll have to swim for it!” Things were not going well for the two Marines.
They stripped off their web equipment belts, pack snap-hangers, leaf netting, and quickly weighted them down with an ammo belt.
Hy threw the pile into the river—and jumped into the still rising water after the bundle. The equipment sank out of sight. Hy had kept three small cans of different colored smoke in a small waist pack. Sammy still had his weapon and some ammo. Hy had dumped the spotting scope back in the jungle.
They were downstream only twenty meters before probing flashlights appeared on the opposite shore. The two barely made it to the other side. The guardas had easily followed the large footprints in the mud—slowing only between lightning flashes.
The guardas shined their flashlights towards the river and saw the little inflatable rowboat floating away. One kept his flashlight trained on it. They ran along the bank, firing at it. It sank. They spent the next fifteen minutes looking for bodies floating in the dark water.
The guardas finally decided the shooters had drowned and had washed on downriver. The taller man, who seemed to be in charge, decided to check the far bank anyway. He and another man waded and half-swam across the flooded stream.
Sammy and Hy carefully faded into the jungle. The sloping east bank was covered with dark pebbles—no footprints and the rain was coming down harder. The guardas’ flashlights only reflected a glare.
The guardas searched the riverbank for tracks and then followed an old trail into the wet green. Sammy and Hy were already well away from the old trail and heading south. They had found the trail two days ago when the river was lower and discovered a quick way out.
