The Tamarind Crucifixion PART 2

THE TAMARIND CRUCIFIXION PART 2.......

It carried the rumble of thunder that sounded like the muffled roll of military drums low and menacing.

The tree, under which the four soldiers sheltered, sprang into sudden animated movement, its branches sweeping in a sideways motion. The tall Tamarind trees on the opposite hill began to sway in surging green waves. The strong wind, in a combing action, parted then closed the surrounding jungle foliage. The fragrant scent of Tamarind flowers wafted over the ravine and uphill to the waiting patrol.

Deakin breathed in deep, savouring the scent, his eyes closed in pleasure. Wilkins grunted, a look of scorn directed at Deakin’s evident enjoyment.
“Smells like a bloody bazaar brothel”, he growled.
“B******s”, retorted Deakin.
The sergeant intervened. “Drop it. Finish it when we’ve done this job.”
They lapsed into silence; Deakin smiling, and Wilkins scowling.

A pair of monkeys swung into the tree above them. Chattering furiously, they tangled in a ball of fur and flashing teeth. Then, to the astonishment of the soldiers, they began to copulate.
“Hells bloody bells”, choked Wilkins. “Blimey, the cheeky blighters.”

They looked at the comic astonishment on Wilkins face and burst out laughing, almost choking in their attempt to smother the noise. Wilkins, oblivious of their merriment, had his eyes glued in fascination at the rapid, vigorous thrust of the male monkey’s buttocks. When they had finished, Wilkins still stared transfixed. Whether by necessity or design, the female monkey spread her legs and urinated down on to Wilkins upturned face. He spluttered in shocked rage, spitting and wiping his dripping face.
“F**k me”, he gasped. “Pissed on by a monkey — the dirty stinking bastard.”
They doubled up in uncontrolled hilarity; their faces alive with appreciative glee. Eventually, even Wilkins smiled; though it was a weak, wavering twitch of his thin lips.

The sky darkened, lightning flickered above the hills. And the wind became stronger as the gathering storm moved closer. The sergeant cursed, looking anxiously at the lowering sky and then glancing at his watch. The hands stood at thirteen minutes past noon.

“Right, lads,” he said briskly, “Take up positions. I’ll take mine below Lewis.”
Lewis eased himself into a more comfortable position from where he had a clear view across to the other hill. Before him the Tamarind trees moved in the wind a mass of turbulent green. A loud clap of thunder erupted, crashing heavily among the hills and reverberating among the rock walls of the ravine below. Caught by its suddenness, Lewis started. Blue sheet lightning flashed and crackled, charging the air with zipping currents of
electricity.

The storm intensified. While the lightning zipped and crackled and the thunder rolled in giant drumbeats, Lewis was intently scanning the moving Tamarind trees. He was sure that he had seen a momentary reflection of light flashing in the undulating trees. He watched. Yes there it was again. It was picking up the lightning. He pinpointed the spot. There it was again. He slid a round into his rifle breech, and knelt upon one knee. He took aim carefully. The small flash of light appeared again… instantly he pulled the trigger, the butt of his rifle recoiling hard against his shoulder.

The smell of cordite blew back into his face; an acrid, strong stench, the smell of war. He lowered his rifle, his eyes fixed on the spot where he had aimed. The lightning still spread its searing flashes of brilliant light - but the solitary flash among the Tamarind trees had ceased.

Big drops of tropical rain began to fall; slow at first, then increasing in tempo until it became a virtual wall of torrential rain that reduced visibility to nil. With the rain, the temperature dropped quickly. Lewis shivered, the skin on his face and hands had turned blue as the rain poured a cascade of cold, drenching water down off the tree. Within a short space of time he was soaked with cold, almost icy rainwater.

It was a numbing cold that seemed to penetrate his very bones. He huddled with his arms wrapped about his body, searching for some area of warmth. He felt utterly miserable, unable to think coherently, as the rain hammered down with ruthless consistency.

Lewis felt a hand pulling his arm, and turned to the dripping face of the sergeant peering at him. The sergeant indicated for Lewis to move closer. The thunder and rain was a bedlam of noise and movement.
“Did you get him?”, the sergeant shouted.
“I think I did”, Lewis shouted back.

Realizing the futility of conversing, they drew apart, sitting huddled in the misery of the cold and rain; shivering, waiting stoically for the storm to blow itself out.

Within ten minutes, the storm had passed; moving on towards the giant, arched spine of the Arakan Yoma hills, reaching up to 10,000 feet above sea level. The cry of pheasants, the returning chorus of insects signalled the jungle’s return to normality. Monkeys chattered and birds sang in the returning warmth of the sun. The jungle began to steam, clouds of vapour rising from the undergrowth and trees.

The patrol stretched stiff limbs, luxuriating in the returning warmth of the sun. The blue receded from hands and faces, the sun-tanned colour gradually returning.

The sergeant turned to Lewis. “What happened?” Lewis described the flashing pinpoint of light, emphasizing that he had seen it several times before firing. The sergeant scrubbed his chin. “You could have got him… maybe.” Wilkins and Deakin slid in closer to the centre under the tree. The sergeant whistled to signal Jones to join them. They waited, steaming as body heat and the sun began to dry their green denims. Then Jones slid down among them.

“I heard a shot before I showed myself, sarge”, said Jones.
“I know”, the sergeant replied, ”That was Lewis. And…?”
“Well”, Jones continued, ”After that I showed myself several times.”
“I wonder”, the sergeant said, ”I wonder if Lewis nailed him?” He looked at each in turn, as if seeking an answer. They all shrugged except Lewis.

The sergeant decided that the course left was to reconnoitre the opposite hill to establish beyond doubt that the sniper had been put out of action. It wasn’t going to be easy, he thought; if he was still alive, only wounded, he could be dangerous; as dangerous as a wild animal at close quarters. He turned a rough plan over in his mind. Lewis good at approach work, more like a bloody redskin than a welsh miner. He’d take him. To take them all would be trebling the chances of diction by the Jap…if he were alive. He turned to the corporal. “Lewis, we’ll scout the hill out. If you’ve hit him, but only wounded, he’ll still be strapped to one of those trees. You three stay here. Keep your eyes open…all the time. Cover us. Any questions?” They all shook their heads.

Deakin moved into a suitable position that gave him adequate cover and a clear view ahead. Jones and Wilkins followed his example. The sergeant and corporal disappeared downhill. To the watching three left behind the only indication of their progress was an occasional slight ripple in the undergrowth.

The jungle had now dried out. They reached the edge of the ravine. Down here the heat was more intense, the vegetation was sparse, and the rock wall of the ravine threw back the heat and the glare of the sun.

They stopped to rest, soaked in sweat. The sergeant suddenly cursed and rubbed his legs in agitation. Looking down he saw a swarm of red ants pouring in a river of movement across his knees. “Christ”, he whispered urgently, “Lets move on from here before these bastards eat us alive.”

They worked their ways forward; a slow, cautious, laborious progress, suffering abrasions from the sharp out-crops of rock that were as sharp as razors. The earth became wet as they entered a clump of mango trees. The damp coolness of the earth was a relief from the rock-sharp area just covered.

Reaching the Tamarind trees they stopped to rest. There was a faint whisper of a breeze rustling through the close-knit branches. The fragrance of flowers was strong; almost sweet and cloying after the dark smell of earth under the mango swamp. To Lewis, it was like a premonition of death and burial; the rustle of rice-paper as the preacher flicked the pages, the intonation of a Welsh tongue welcoming death and resurrection, tenor and bass, sad and triumphant. Immediately, he rejected the ideology; peace and war had no business holding hands, like brother and sister.

Sgt. Barnes saw the troubled look on Lewis’s face and mistook it for fear.
“What’s wrong - scared?”
“Scared” Listen sarge, I’m always scared; frightened out of my bloody wits on times. Afraid I’ll never see home again.”
The sergeant grinned. In his book a scared soldier was an alert soldier. It was the unimaginative type, the glory-hunters that frightened him; they put a lot of squadies in danger.

“Tell you what, I’m scared pretty often myself. Right now, I’m as jittery as hell.”
“We’ve got to go careful from here on.”

They rose to their feet. They slowly walked forward through the fragrant trees; eyes searching and ears attuned for the least alien sound. Then Lewis raised a hand. They stopped, standing motionless. A troop of chattering monkeys swung across the trees ahead then, only the faint sough of the breeze. Somewhere ahead a branch cracked as sharp as a rifle shot. They froze, breathing shallow.

“Wait here”, Lewis whispered. He crawled forward, then disappeared. The sergeant waited, stretching out his legs tentatively while pushing his rifle forward ready to fire. Only the breeze and the drone of insects could be heard. Abruptly, he caught the sound of a slithering movement overhead; he looked up and saw a braided snake travelling along the branches. He expelled his breath hard in relief.

From the direction Lewis had taken, a whistle was repeated four times. The sergeant whistled back and scrambled to his feet, hurrying upwards through the tall columns of Tamarind trees. He saw Lewis standing looking up into a tree. He ran forward to join him.

The Japanese appeared as if he had been crucified; the straps around his body had tangled to hold his arms out-stretched as the weight of his body had slumped down…dead. His head was slumped down upon his chest, his mouth and eyes wide open in shocked surprise. Lewis saw that his bullet had caught the’… sniper in the stomach. His blood still dripped down his legs in thick blobs to fall on a cluster of Tamarind flowers. It coloured them scarlet and pink - like Japanese blossom.
“Well”, said Lewis, “he’s got his Bushido…poor bastard.”
“Aye”, the sergeant grunted, ”Get his papers and leave the rest for the vultures.”

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