Читать книгу Whisper Quiet - Tim Longmire - Страница 8

Like I said, the plan is to submerge while still under the tree. Push off the bottom with my feet, launching myself underwater. I realize that the current in the river will be causing the bubbles to drift down somewhat.

When I push out from under the tree I will shoot for a spot a little up river from where the bubble’s are breaking on the surface and then let the current slowly drag me back down stream where I am assuming my rucksack is located, assumption, the mother of all screw ups. The plan is risky I could overshoot the rucksack easily. Hell the bubbles could be from anything, a big snapping turtle to an alligator belching fat up from his last rotting meal. Nothing ventured nothing gained, I have to try to recover my ruck.

A rucksack is a field soldier’s lifeline, mine has all my gear, extra ammo, the GPS and my food in it. In Ranger school, we trained extensively on water operations. To include certification in scuba and snorkeling. One of the things covered was to hyperventilate when facing a long swim or deep dive under water. By hyperventilating, you dump all the carbon dioxide out of the bottom of your lungs. The build up of carbon dioxide is what triggers your diaphragm to kick in and forces you to breath. You can fool or delay this action by purging the carbon dioxide out allowing you to extend the amount of time you can hold your breath.

One night when fishing off a pier as a kid the handle of my real came loose and fell into the murky dark water under the pier. After climbing down the ladder attached to the pier, I dove down into the fifteen feet of dark water feeling along the bottom of the lake in a desperate attempt to find the small reel handle, I found it on the first attempt. May have just been luck then, maybe luck will be with me again. The reel handle meant no more fishing, the rucksack could turn this mission into a life or death situation very quickly. It is imperative that I recover my ruck, and all the time I have wasted looking under the tree has done nothing but close the gap between any possible pursuers and myself.

I take several deep breaths, forcing as much carbon dioxide from the bottom of my lungs as possible. Bracing my feet in the murky muddy bottom I launch out towards the location where I figure my rucksack is. I thrust slowly to keep from making any splashes or cause any surface ripples. Smooth and easy is the way to go now. I’m out from under the cover of the overhanging tree, the water is too murky to see much more than a blur, but I can tell an increase of light from the sun overhead. I arrive upstream of the bubbles on the surface. I hope. Now to let the current push me downstream to where I assume the rucksack will be. It just took the one push with my legs to reach the location I picked to start my downstream drift for the ruck. A few seconds is all I can give myself to find the rucksack, if not found quickly I need to swim back under the protection and cover of the overhanging trees, rest, check area security and try again. Repeating this process until my ruck is found. If I do find my rucksack, I will immediately head to the other side of the river to the spot I had picked to exit the river. The animal slide. I need to stay underwater as much as possible. The weight of the gear in my ruck should keep me submerged in this fresh water river.

The current is not as swift as I thought it would be. I feel and grope around on the muddy river bottom littered with leaves, limbs and other slimy stuff. The oxygen in my lungs is getting thin, my diaphragm is starting to tickle, and soon it will be sending the message to my brain it’s time to take a breath dumb ass. My brain has not started screaming for oxygen yet, but I know its coming.

Then I feel it, the wonderful feeling of a nylon strap, a strap I pray is connected to my rucksack. Without hesitating, I clip the strap into into the carabiner I keep clipped to a belt loop on the right side of my pants. I start kicking. Kicking hard towards the other side of the river. To the exit point from this black, dark, murky pit. My brain, is starting to panic, it’s sensing the absence of oxygen in my blood stream, sending panic signals to my diaphragm. In response my diaphragm is starting to spasm, pain has begun at the bottom of my rib cage and is moving up through my chest. My whole body is screaming for oxygen, my legs are beginning to cramp. Damn I don’t think I can make this.

The rucksack is acting like an underwater sail. Even though the current is not real swift, the mass of the rucksack is pulling me downriver faster than I had expected. Now I am in fear of overshooting the only point on the opposite shore I saw that looked even feasible to exit from the river.

My diaphragm has kicked into high gear, pumping up and down trying to expel the poison carbon dioxide building up in the bottom of my lungs, I am fighting to keep from exhaling even a little. Just like the small bubbles coming from my ruck gave me its location, exhaling the building carbon dioxide in my lungs would be a road map to my location for anybody watching.

The current is trying to draw me back away from the opposite shore, this river is a hungry river, dark, muddy, and stagnant on the bottom. Hungry for nourishment for its residents. My body would be a sacrifice of Fillet Mignon proportions. Feeding its hungry denizens for a long time, even leaching the calcium from my bones long after my flesh had been consumed.

The water is getting brighter, I am coming closer to the surface. I am fighting with all my strength to keep from breaking the surface of this liquid tomb, my brain, lungs, my body is screaming now for oxygen. I am beginning to get dizzy, my ears are ringing.

However, popping to the surface just for a second brings the picture of a metal jacketed bullet tearing through my head, penetrating my skull, and turning my brain into a gelatinous pulp to ooze out into the hungry river. Even though I hate every second and my body is screaming for fresh life giving oxygen. I need to stay in and keep myself submerged in this river. In the fact it can conceal me, in that way I embrace its murky shield. It may be trying to take me, but it is also protecting me. Its giving me some cover, and for this, I am thankful. Its murk is covering my passing and unlike the bullshit you see in the movies, to shoot someone under water you have to be shooting down at them, an angled shot would ricochet off the surface of the water as if it was a plate of steel.

I remember this from an accident as a kid. I used to take my twenty two rifle down to a neighbors pond and plink the turtles as they would pop up for air, karma has struck home. One such outing I was shooting at turtles on the far side of the pond, one of my shots ricocheted of the surface and hit one of the neighbors breeding mares dead in the ass. A huge vet bill and a broken nose, dealt to me by my father from a well placed round house kick to the face were the results, the mare survived just fine. I on the other hand still carry the crook in my nose. The vet bill cost quite a few six packs.

Dizzy or not, I’m a Ranger, I overcome the needs of my mind and body and continue under the surface. Just when I think I have pushed too far, I feel them, it’s as if I stuck my head into the strands of a mop. Tree roots, lots of hairy tree roots. The presence of the roots means one thing, I have reached the opposite shore.

Fighting the urge to leap up out of this muddy stagnant river, the urge to pierce the surface and suck in air, purging and refilling my cramped lungs. I slowly surface, still holding my breath, feeling the water run of the top of my head as it clears this murky coffin, blinking the cloudy haze of the river water from my eyes. I feel the stagnant water draining from my ears, they become acute for the slightest out of place sound. Once again the jungle sounds flood back in. I force myself to slowly exhale out through my nose, fighting my body’s screaming demand for oxygen. All this as I unsling my rifle, breaking the surface with the breach and barrel, letting the water drain from it. Time to take my first breath, oxygen, sweet tasting wonderful oxygen is filling my lungs, it carries the constant perfume of the jungle flowers with it.

I force myself to breath through my nose, more quite than gasping through the mouth. The perfume of the jungle flowers initially was nice, then I became irritated by it, but right now, it is the most wonderful odor in the world, a liquid vanilla odor.

My lungs purge the carbon dioxide from my body, my ears stop ringing and my vision is starting to clear, the fog is lifting from my brain. A little longer without fresh air and I would have blacked out. I watch out of my peripheral vision as the water drains from the breach of my rifle the whole time scanning the shoreline first upstream the way I had come, then down stream. I push the mouser action forward and feel the round slide into its home, ready to do its job if called on. The tree roots are providing a little cover both overhead and up and down stream. I overshot my planned exit location by about ten feet. I am down stream from the animal slide. Not bad, I was afraid it would be much more.

I am starting to shake from head to toe, being in this water for the last couple of hours is starting to have an effect on me. It’s draining the heat out of my body. I’m trained on hypothermia and the effects it has on the body, all this swimming and exertion are just making it’s onset come on quicker. Even though this water is probably in the mid eighties, it will eventually suck the body heat out of me and sap the energy from my body in its attempt to keep its core temperature up. OK, I have waited long enough, I need to move to the slide and get the hell out of this river.

Not as much cover as I would like but my shaking is starting to get bad. Much more and won’t be able to hold steady enough to hit anything if I do have to take a shot. It can’t be good when you are in a tropical jungle and your teeth are chattering in the middle of the day.

My lungs have stopped screaming for air now, this episode is going to leave a mark in my head for along time.

Back to the mission, as I work my way back upstream to the slide I remain submerged up to my neck holding my rifle just above the surface. I am moving slowly carefully picking my way through the debris strewn, silty soft bottom of the river. Glad I have on boots that are tightly tied, each step brings forth a massive effort to break loose from the gooey bottom, this damn river is still trying to claim me for its prize.

I reach the animal slide after more effort than I expected. The gooey bottom on the river kept trying to suck me under. Climbing out of the river I’m glad the angle of the animal slide is not very steep, my legs are wobbly from the exertion and cramping a bit still from oxygen shortage. It amazes me the distance one can push their body when needed, half of the people on the face of this earth have no idea of what they are capable of because fear prevents them from finding out.

Once on solid ground I crouch down and survey the area around me and the trail ahead. The trail has plenty of head clearance. I immediately scan the ground for signs of human contact, no footprints just animals, but people have been here, the two cigarette butts just off the trail give that one away.

The trail opening looks like it will provide good cover, it’s a dark opening, penetrating back into the jungle, it looks like a cave back into the jungle. I remove my Mark II from it’s scabbard as I begin my entry into it’s dark gaping mouth. I slowly move up the trail, my senses are back to their usual sharp level. Unknown and unseen creatures are moving all around me in the jungle. My presence is obviously scaring them into flight, just one more sign that man has made his presence here known. I am carrying my rifle slung over my shoulder, I need to be quite moving down this trail. If I want to keep myself concealed.

I am still ready for just about anything. An Army Ranger is as good as five regular men with seven inches of razor sharp still in his hand, especially in the tight quarters afforded by this trial. So narrow that it would be impossible for two men to come at me at the same time. I like it. As I begin entering into the dark, shadowy abyss of this jungle trail my ears have become attuned to the subtle nuance sound’s made by the jungle life all around me. The constant bird calls, every now and then the sound of big cats, but mostly the frogs, lots of frogs and chirping insects. They remind me of the crickets back home in August, when they come out in droves and begin looking for girlfriends, God they can get loud. Let one sneak into your house and you will hunt him down like an escaped killer from jail, the constant chirping noise will keep you awake all night. But right now they are my early warning system. Those close by are hushing as a pass near them.

My hope is that if any type of transgressors travel in my direction the critters will do the same and silence at their approach. Their steady noises are making me feel just a bit more secure. I start feeling a familiar stinging on my chest, back and legs. I need a secure more defensible spot back off this trail to take care of a little problem I have developed.

I have some free loaders and they are starting to get to me, how many I’m not for sure but I know its more than I can carry with me. Besides letting my gear dry out and doing an equipment check is good, and the sooner the better, I am losing daylight and precious time.

About a kilometer farther up the trail I notice the trail is starting to get brighter, I am wondering if I am about to loose my cover. As I get closer I can see why, a giant of a jungle tree has finally succumbed to its long life and fallen. As it fell, it acted like a giant scythe shearing the jungle on both sides of its enormous trunk, a trunk eight feet taller than my six foot four inch height. It has ripped through the overhead canopy and is now allowing this part of the jungle floor to see something it probably has not seen in decades, full sunlight. In its falling, it however has blocked the trail, but nature has a way of compensating for hindrances, the animals that have used this trail for years, mostly pigs will not be denied their water source. They have dug a tunnel underneath the trunk. I ground my ruck and began a slow careful low crawl through the tunnel under the tree. I cannot help but think what kind of shit will hit the fan if I either run head on into another boar or if someone is waiting on the the other side. As I approach the light from the other side, I stop and listen for any out of the ordinary sounds, everything seems to be cool. I crawl on through and pull a quick perimeter sweep, all clear. Crawling back through I decide to recover my gear and return to the other side of the tree. Putting the down tree and what appears to be the only way under, the crawl through, it will make it easier to defend myself. I am still not confident I’m not being followed from the position of the pig killing last night. Wish I could start a fire and have some of that pig, it would be great right now. Dried pork patties from a LRP will have to do.

On the other side of the tree, I decided to retreat into the jungle along the trunk for a good safe distance and get off the trail, no more pigs for a day or two. Besides it’s going to take some time to do what I have to do, the itching has stopped now, and it just means my friends are getting better at what they are doing.