At length, the entrance way darkened and two figures walked in. Maximilian and Wolfe. The tall, hook-nosed Wolfe looked at Tarzan, his dark, yellowed eyes squinting, and scoffed, “Tough guy.”

  “What is this about? Let me go, Hunter,” Tarzan said.

  Maximilian strode up to the ape man, his ruddy face and piercing brown eyes scarcely a foot from Tarzan’s. “My name is not Hunter,” he sneered. “It’s a name you well know. It’s DeKelm! Do you remember the name Peter DeKelm? Peter DeKelm was my brother! Do you remember him?”

  The name sank in. Tarzan remembered him well. It had only been a year. The attack on the Waziri village and others…the slaughter of the Chgala people…the kidnapping of Jack Fredrickson, the son of his good friend…the fiery battle with the Waziri overcoming the mercenary compound….

  “I remember your brother,” he said. “Why have you come here? What do you want with me?”

  “You killed my brother. What do you think I want? I want you dead.”

  Tarzan said, “I did not kill your brother. The Waziri did.”

  “So you say. But you called them. If it hadn’t been for you, my brother would still be alive. And they will be finished, too,” Maximilian said. “If the Urulu don’t defeat them, my guns will. And before I take care of you, you will watch them all die!”

  The ape man gritted his teeth and yanked at his bonds. Maximilian laughed at the effort. “You won’t get free from those straps. Or if you do, you won’t get five feet before one of my men takes you down. You might as well relax and enjoy the show!”

  He laughed again as they left the lodge.

  Chapter 14

  D E A T H

  Point Station was bustling with activity. Captain Reynolds’ duties in a situation like this were complicated. He had to secure the Station, first and foremost. But a jungle torn by war was not something he could sit idly by and watch. His duty compelled him to defend the white settlers, tend to the wounded, and do what he could to intervene. Accordingly, he assembled a party of six men equipped with medical and rescue gear—and armaments—and set out for the battle sites.

  As the cries and clamor of the battle raged on in the distance, the Americans over in the missionary camp huddled together around their empty fire pit, their eyes darting back and forth, wide with anxiety.

  “What can we do, Brother Adamson?” one of the young missionary volunteers said.

  “We can pray. Let us kneel and bow our heads and ask God to put a quick end to this hostility.” He rose from his chair and proceeded to kneel down in the dirt next to the fire ring. The others followed. Adamson folded his hands, closed his eyes, and began, “O Lord, we beseech you to put an end to this bloody conflict. We ask that you let our warring brothers see the error of their ways and settle their differences so that they may bring peace to this land.” They all clasped their hands and prayed silently and fervently.

  After a few moments, Ruth Cheever spoke up, “This is not enough!”

  “What?” exclaimed Adamson.

  “I cannot just stay here like this. I must do something! I must go to help!”

  He looked at her, perplexed. “You cannot go out there. There is nothing you can do.”

  “I can treat the wounded. I can console the children.”

  She started up. Adamson grasped her arm, pleading, “You will be hurt. Possibly killed!”

  “Walter, let me go!” she implored, struggling. “I am partly responsible for this war and I must do something about that!”

  Adamson did not know what she meant, but he let her pull away from his grip. He watched her hurriedly gather together a medical kit and various towels and bandages and dash off toward the Urulu village.

  “Brother Adamson, aren’t we going to stop her?” one of the assistants asked.

  “I don’t know that we can. She is either a fool or a saint, or perhaps a bit of both.”

  Ruth jogged down the well-worn path from the missionary camp to the Urulu village, approaching it from the rear. She heard cries of battle and of pain as she neared the Urulu village. There was a great bustle and commotion, and women and children scurried around, some of them crying.

  As she approached the center of the compound, near the tribal fire pit, she saw Maximilian, Wolfe, and Bingham standing in a line at the edge of the village grounds, facing the direction of the battle, their rifles held at the ready, pointing to the sky. Between Wolfe and Bingham, Hayes crouched down next to a wooden shipping crate. He had just finished assembling the Thompson submachine gun and snapping the round ammunition magazine onto it.

  Ruth stopped and exclaimed, “What are you doing!?”

  “Listening for the results of the battle,” Maximilian said.

  “What is going on?” Ruth said.

  “The Waziri may be winning now. But we are going to make sure that they lose!”

  “What! Are you going to kill them all!?” she cried, dumbfounded.

  “Go back to your camp. Stay out of this!” he ordered and then, ignoring her, continued, “Ready, men? Take out every single Waziri that comes into your sight. We’ll wipe out every one of the black bastards! And we’ll pile them all up for the ape man to see before we take care of him!”

  “You can’t do this!” Ruth shouted.

  “Are you still here? I told you to get out of here!”

  “I’ve come to treat the wounded…to take care of the children…,” Ruth stammered.

  “Then do that!” Maximilian snarled. “But stay out of our way or we’ll kill you, too!”

  Fearful and apprehensive, she left the four men and headed toward a knot of women and children gathering in front of one of the huts some yards away. As she walked, she wondered about Maximilian’s reference to the ape man. How would he see the carnage? Was he here?

  Ruth stopped to look around the village. No men in sight. Just women and children. The council lodge was deserted. Curious, she approached it just closely enough to peer within. She sneaked a look back at Maximilian and his men to see that their attention was otherwise occupied outside, and she circled around to the rear of the lodge. Opening the flap of the rear entrance, she stepped in and immediately saw Tarzan bound to the pole, struggling with his bonds.

  Ruth hesitated but a moment before making her decision. She moved to him and began to undo his bonds.

  The ape man looked back to see her at work and whispered, “What are you doing?”

  “It seems I am now your guardian angel,” she whispered back.

  Feeling his bonds loosened, Tarzan said, “Thank you.”

  “Hunter and his men said that they will kill every Waziri who comes near the village. You must stop him. You must try to stop this war,” Ruth whispered emphatically.

  “I will do what I can,” the ape man said. He looked around and added, “Leave quickly and quietly.”

  She did. And Tarzan replaced the thongs that had bound him so that, for the moment, he appeared to be still tied in place.

  The battle, still a long way from the Urulu village, raged on. At least a hundred warriors thrashed away at each other. The rushing charge of the Urulu had been met with a fierce onslaught from the Waziri, and the opposing forces had fragmented into knots of combatants brutally engaging each other. Some fought in clusters of four or five, fending off opponents with spear and shield. Many clusters broke into individual hand-to-hand combat, some with flailing daggers and some thrashing on the ground with only fists.

  Fierce battle cries mingled with shouts of pain. Fast, strong ebony warriors swung sinewy arms right and left, feinting and striking, fists pounding and spear points slashing. Arrows flew from archers who had managed to conceal themselves behind trees or rocks to pick off individual opponents in the fray, only to be taken out by enemy archers, themselves ensconced nearby. Individual warriors, separated from the combat, pursued their enemy into the deeper jungle undergrowth or the concealment of huge trees, or they sneaked up on enemy archers to take them out with spears or knives.

  Downed warriors began to litter the ground, some writhing in pain, some bloody and lifeless.

  The Urulu fought angrily and proudly, but more Urulu fell than Waziri, and at length, though only gradually, the Waziri began to encroach further into Urulu territory, closer to the village.

  Maximilian entered the lodge and set down his rifle, leaning it against the door post. He was followed by Wolfe. “It won’t be long now,” he said, approaching Tarzan in the center of the lodge. “We’re waiting for the first word from the battle site. The way I see it, we’ll know with the first warrior returning to this village. If he’s Urulu, it means your precious Waziri have lost. If he’s Waziri, we’ll take him out, and every one that follows him.”

  Tarzan said to him, “If the Waziri do win, they will march into the village in triumph, not one by one. How do you intend to take them all on with just the four of you?”

  Maximilian smiled his smirky grin. “We are hardly four, my ape friend. I have a little equalizer out there that will even the odds.” He imitated the rat-a-tat sound of a machine gun. “I can mow down the whole tribe in seconds. Just like you and your precious Waziri mowed down my brother and his men.”

  With the cunning patience of his jungle breeding, Tarzan had been carefully watching every step these men took. He knew it would be foolhardy to try to take on four men with rifles and a submachine gun. But now they were split up. He needed to wait until they separated themselves from their weapons. Maximilian’s rifle was already yards away in the entrance, and the man stood only a few feet from Tarzan. The jungle lord looked wordlessly at them, his expression bland, pretending to be still tightly bound.

  It was only a matter of moments until the arrogant Wolfe, certain of the strength of the ape man’s bonds, felt confident enough to lean his rifle down against the far wall. With a haughty smile, he took out a cigarette and lit up. Tarzan watched him, his movement revealing nothing. He wished Wolfe would remove his sheathed machete, too.

  Wolfe sauntered up to the post, even closer than Maximilian stood, and stared contemptuously into the ape man’s gray eyes. With a condescending snicker, he blew a cloud of smoke into Tarzan’s face and said, “Ape man. Hah. It was you shot me in the arm, wasn’t it?”

  It was the last thing he ever said.

  Quicker than the eye could follow, Tarzan’s unfettered fists lashed out and slammed left and right into Wolfe’s face. Wolfe sank to the floor. Maximilian immediately jumped the ape man, and the two of them wrestled fiercely. They fell to the dirt floor and rolled around, grappling, each trying to pommel the other when his arm was free.

  The dazed Wolfe shook his head and saw Maximilian and Tarzan thrashing about. They were too close together and rolled too furiously for him to try to shoot one without hitting them both. He pulled out his machete and waited for an opportunity.

  At one point, Tarzan slammed Maximilian twice, leaving him dazed. As Tarzan rose from the floor, his quick eye saw Wolfe’s arm swing, and he jerked his head out of the way just as the machete blade landed thunk in the wood of a nearby support pole, lodging halfway in.

  Tarzan instantly lunged for Wolfe, now disarmed, and grabbed him by the throat and shook him fiercely.

  Meanwhile, Maximilian staggered up and reached for his rifle, but Tarzan flung Wolfe like a rag doll at him. The two mercenaries tumbled across the floor, though Maximilian again recovered quickly and got up. For a man in his forties, he was brawny and tenacious.

  The ape man reckoned he would have to try a different tack. He leaped up to grasp one of the sturdy ceiling cross-poles that stretched above him. He swung out and solidly kicked Maximilian back several feet. The ape man swung his legs back and forth on the beam to build a momentum and then, with simian dexterity true to his name, deftly leaped with one arm to grasp an adjacent ceiling beam, from which he could again kick Maximilian back and down.

  Tarzan landed lightly on his feet to see that Wolfe had risen and was plowing toward him. Tarzan whirled and swatted the mercenary aside with a hard left backhand.

  At that moment, Tarzan noticed that the doorway to the hut darkened as Bingham stepped into it from the courtyard, wondering at the commotion. Seeing what was happening, he raised his rifle. With lightning-quick reflexes that were second nature to him, Tarzan grabbed the groggy Wolfe and spun him around, putting the man between himself and Bingham, who fired at that same instant. Wolfe caught the bullet and slumped. Tarzan threw the limp body at the shooter, knocking him back, and then he rushed forward and wrenched the rifle away from Bingham.

  Stepping away from the doorway and back into the lodge, Tarzan leveled the weapon at Bingham and ordered him to remove the belt with his hunting knife and throw it aside. After the belt was cast off, he motioned to the man to stand up. Bingham began to rise slowly, too slowly for Tarzan, who did not want to take his eyes off Maximilian farther back in the room. Bingham made his move for his knife. Tarzan saw it and swung back around. Bingham quickly grabbed the rifle barrel to force it away. Tarzan struggled with his grip for a moment, then yanked the barrel away and shot his opponent point blank in the chest.

  Maximilian, seeing the ape man momentarily distracted, rushed to leap upon him, trying to take him down. Tarzan lost his grip on the rifle in his effort to fend off his attacker’s thrashing arms. They rolled to the ground as the mercenary went for the ape man’s throat.

  Hayes had remained in position many yards away beyond the ceremonial fire pit, near the edge of the village. He had situated himself behind one of several large gnarled trees in the village central grounds, watching and waiting for signs of approaching Waziri.

  When he heard the report of Bingham’s rifle, he left his post to run to the lodge, Thompson submachine gun in hand. As he passed one of the great trees between him and the lodge entrance, a hand reached out to grab his weapon and attempted to wrest it free from him with both hands. It was Walter Adamson. Hayes yanked the weapon back from his grip, but Adamson grabbed frantically at the barrel again. Their hands both locked on the gun, and they struggled against each other, Hayes cursing the interference.

  Stronger than Adamson, Hayes managed to pull the weapon down from shoulder height to waist height, when their wrestling with it turned it at an angle. The gun went off, echoing through the village. Walter Adamson loosened his grip and his face froze in a grimace of shock and pain. Hayes fired again, point blank into Adamson’s stomach.

  Adamson went limp. Hayes pushed the body away, letting it fall, and continued his run toward the council lodge.

  He dashed around the fire pit and headed for the lodge, weaving left around one of the neighboring huts. As he rounded the corner, he heard a voice say, “That’s far enough.” He swung his Thompson into position to face this new adversary, but before he could fire it, a pistol discharged. Hayes clutched his chest and fell to the ground. Captain Reynolds stepped forward and stood over him, his revolver smoking.

  Inside the council hut, Maximilian sunk his fingers, claw-like, deeper and deeper into the ape man’s throat. Tarzan tugged at his opponent’s arms, one with each hand, but could not completely force them away. Maximilian’s eyes blazed with hatred as they stared into the ape man’s. Red-faced, teeth clenched, bloody, he trembled with fury.

  Tarzan, becoming desperate for breath, let go of Maximilian’s arms and began furiously pounding both sides of his opponent’s head. The sudden, painful blows were enough to make Maximilian release. Tarzan immediately batted the man’s arms away and knocked him backward and off him.

  Tarzan rose to his feet, but Maximilian recovered quickly and backed off. Finding himself very near the machete stuck in the pole, he went for it. He yanked it out and, with raw, animal fury, began flailing away at Tarzan. Tarzan backed away, deftly dodging swing after swing. He was nearly backed against the wall, within reach of one of the ceremonial shields the tribe hung there.

  Between Maximilian’s wild thrashings, he quickly seized the shield from the wall and thrust it out to block the next swipe. The machete connected time and again, and the wooden shield splintered into several shards but still protecting Tarzan from the blows. Holding onto one large jagged section, Tarzan powerfully swung it at Maximilian, knocking the machete to the ground. He tossed the shard aside.

  The two men stood, facing off, in wrestlers’ stances, staring at each other guardedly.

  “You are defeated,” Tarzan said. “Surrender while you can.”

  “I won’t give you the satisfaction, you ape,” Maximilian snarled, catching his breath.

  “I am Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, and you will die today.”

  Maximilian feinted to make a grab for the machete on the floor. Tarzan blocked him and landed a blow with his fist hard on Maximilian’s jaw. Maximilian spun around and made a run for the rifle he had set down earlier. Tarzan grabbed him and they tumbled to the floor, writhing around in the dirt. Maximilian tried to land blows on Tarzan’s head and neck, but the ape man blocked him again and again. They scrabbled brutally. As they locked arms, Maximilian heard a throaty growl like the one he thought he heard in the London alley.

  Because Tarzan was shirtless and sweaty, Maximilian managed to wriggle out of his grip at one point and scramble to his feet. He thought he could make it to the doorway, but the ape man was too quick. In an instant, Tarzan’s bulging arm encircled Maximilian’s neck and trapped it, vise-like, in a headlock the way he had so often trapped the heads of ferocious big cats. Maximilian strained and groaned. His eyes glared with fire and awe at Tarzan’s a few inches away, but then began to bulge with growing terror as the jungle lord’s grip grew tighter.

  The ape man’s eyes narrowed and he said, through clenched teeth, “I have but one question for you. Do you have any more brothers?”

  With a final mighty wrench, Maximilian’s neck snapped. His writhing and flailing subsided, and he slumped lifeless to the earthen floor.

 

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