CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The thick, humid air of the Bolivian jungle clung to the four men as they crouched beneath a tangle of broad-leafed ferns.
Jalen, was usually considered the group’s sharp-eyed tactician. He scanned the shadows, his breaths steady but alert.
Beside him, JT tightened the straps on his battered backpack, every muscle in his frame taut with readiness. That backpack had saved his life more than a few times and he knew exactly where everything was and how to reach it. Including ammunition. No one touched his backpack.
Rush, with his tall, wide body, silently gripped his machete, while Tobias—whose calm voice often guided their decisions—checked their location and coordinates, whispering encouragement.
They knew they would survive but they also knew that the man chasing them wanted them dead. They weren’t stupid and neither was he.
Bora’s reputation was well known in the teams. He’d been a tough as nails leader for the Corps but his last few years everyone had seen changes in his behavior and personality.
Considered ruthless, cunning, and relentless, he had grown up in the jungle via the Corps and moved like a shadow through its depths. His men were likely, equally hardened, carried rifles and machetes, their boots crushing undergrowth with a predatory rhythm.
For Jalen and his companions, the chase had become a kind of reckoning—a contest of wits, endurance, and willpower against one of the jungle’s most feared hunters.
What they wouldn’t tell their wives, was that it was also fun.
They were doing what they loved and they were outwitting one of the best.
The jungle swallowed sound and light, its canopy diffusing the sun into shifting emerald shadows. The air was thick with the cries of unseen birds and the drone of insects. Vines hung low, and roots curled treacherously underfoot.
Every step forward was a test, the men’s boots sinking into mud that threatened to swallow them whole. They knew this land could kill them as surely as Bora’s bullets.
The pursuit began at dusk, just after they left Rita in the cantina.
Bora’s scouts had spotted them at the river crossing, and shots rang out, echoing through the trees.
But Jalen’s command was swift—scatter, regroup at the fallen ceiba tree.
Then they disappeared into the foliage, moving like ghosts, every sense honed for survival.
JT led them through a maze of tangled roots and thorny bushes, his knowledge of tracking helping them mask their trail. He used river water to wash away footprints and scattered pepper to confound dogs if they had them.
Rush, ever silent, doubled back to lay false markers, sending Bora’s men in circles. Meanwhile, Tobias charted their progress, always searching for high ground to spot any pursuers.
Early in the chase, they heard Bora’s men crashing through the jungle, machetes hacking at the undergrowth. The four men froze, hearts pounding, as shouts grew louder.
Jalen signaled with a subtle snap of his fingers to put the stealth netting over themselves, and they melted into a stand of bamboo, breathless, unseen as their enemies thundered past. It was their first narrow escape, but not their last.
The jungle itself became both adversary and ally.
Torrential rains turned paths into rivers, and venomous snakes slithered unseen among the leaves.
A fallen log concealed a nest of fire ants that sent Rush stumbling, cursing, as he fought the burning pain.
Tobias quickly applied a cream from his first-aid kit, keeping them moving despite the agony.
Every obstacle tested their resourcefulness and resolve.
They slept in shifts, nerves raw, dreaming of the home that seemed impossibly far. The jungle’s chorus was broken by distant shouts and the crackle of radio static. Silence was survival. When their comms finally pinged, they nearly cried with relief.
“Where are you guys? Your trackers are going in and out and I’m having a hard time following.”
“We know,” said Rush. “Someone saw us in that cantina and gave us away. We’re headed back around to get to our vehicles and meet the chopper.”
“Just make it to the clearing six clicks west of where you are now, or where I think you are. We’ll get you there.”
Jalen’s jaw clenched as he pushed through pain, refusing to show weakness. He was cut up from the jungle, tired, and was pretty sure he’d bruised his hip somewhere along the way.
JT limped, a twisted ankle slowing his pace, but he pressed on with gritted teeth. Even Rush, usually unflappable, began to mumble prayers under his breath. Tobias kept spirits alive, telling stories of their past as they stumbled onward, each step a battle against despair.
The group’s fighting skills proved critical.
Twice, Bora’s scouts blundered into their path, and each time the four men struck with silent ferocity.
JT disarmed a knife-wielding foe in a flash, while Rush brought down a pursuer with a perfectly aimed silenced bullet.
Jalen and Tobias orchestrated each defense, using distraction and stealth to keep the others safe.
Close calls haunted their journey. Once, Bora himself appeared through a curtain of vines, eyes gleaming with predatory focus.
The men held their breath as he studied footprints in the mud, then signaled his men forward.
Only a well-timed burst of thunder and a distraction from a startled capybara allowed the group to slip away unseen, hearts racing with adrenaline.
Teamwork became their lifeline. Jalen and Tobias took turns scouting, their trust in one another absolute. Every decision was unanimous, every risk calculated. In the crucible of pursuit, their bonds forged unbreakable strength.
Resourcefulness kept them alive. They fashioned crude traps from vines and sharpened sticks, slowing down Bora’s band.
Water was gathered from leaves at dawn, and wild berries supplemented their dwindling rations.
Tobias’s knowledge of jungle plants spared them from poisonous fruit and guided them to hidden springs, each discovery a small victory.
The weather turned, unleashing a deluge that blurred the world into gray. Mudslides threatened to sweep them away, and visibility dropped to mere feet.
As dawn broke, the four men collapsed on the far side of the river, gasping for breath, battered but alive. Bora’s shouts echoed faintly from behind, but the border was crossed—the chase over, for now.
“I have to be honest, I don’t want to do that shit again but that was fucking amazing,” grinned Rush.
“Yeah,” nodded Tobias, “but anyone else bothered by the number of men he had with him and how fucking well they were trained?”
“I did notice that,” said JT. “I think he’s got ex-Special Forces guys working with him or he’s spent a lot of time training jungle rats.”
They all heard the soft rush of the blades of the Osprey and turned, running toward the clearing. Asleep before it left the ground, they were anxious to be home, shower, eat, and tell the team the news.
When they came again, they were going to need a lot more men.