Itombwe , South Kivu

The night shift of the lunar diva had been coming to an end, leaving the hot and spectacular golden hunk to take over the magnificent, gigantic stage of the world.

The earliest tangerine rays of his blinding smile spread their soft warm glow over the lush carpet of dark greens. Droplets of light sparkled like liquid amber and gold on the calm aquamarine surface, ignoring the interspersed bundles of moss green wetland plants. Time here begged to stand still, ancient offsprings of the jungle strived to hide themselves under the protective cloak of mother nature, the swamp forest of Itombwe nature reserve.

Rotors of three Mi-17 transport choppers offered their mismatched ode to the silent song of the jungle. The 'hip' choppers occupied by the pseudo foliose fabrics clad warriors from Congolese and Indian armed forces.

Two very different races they might belong to, but being camouflaged by tar and moss green streaks on the face, all of them seemed to adapt some feats quite similar to one another, an appearance that was rough,seasoned and resilient.

Barring Garud commandos, who had para winged golden eagle in front of two crossed swords on their chests, with the words 'bharatiya vayu sena' (Indian Air Force) embroidered beneath those.

Wing Commander Sanskar Shergill had been studying the map of Itombwe reserve forest laid on his lap, when the personnel suspended from the chopper patrol conveyed a positive sign.

He let a sigh of relief. The wait was over. It was time for action.

The SPIE rope was lifted back with the people securely attached to it.

" This is Skipper one, I have you on my sight. Do you copy?" Voice of squadron leader Dhrishith Anirudh could be heard loud and clear as he was conveyed Sanskar's instructions via chopper radio.The pilots flying other two aircrafts responded accordingly.

"Blue, Loud and clear. Come in."

"Ditto, Ginger.

"We think we got our target. Drop down and unload." Dhrishith spoke against his mouthpiece again."Ginger on the north. Blue on the south-east end. Copy that, Skipper one."

"Roger that, Sir."

" Wilco, Blue"

"Over and out." The chopper carrying Sanskar and his team descended near the swamp enclosed and blended with seemingly never ending arrays of wooden sentinels in leafy jackets . One end of a long thick nylon rope was allowed to fall freely; to led the commandos slide down around it who landed splashing water all around them.

There was she, the last one to go before him. Face adorned by thick, merciless strokes of colours didn't do much to conceal her identity. That pair of traitorous purple blue eyes and the long, ebony, fluttering threads of silks on the edge of the lids were more than enough to unmask her facade.

Or could it be her fiery gaze? Perhaps yes...

She stepped forward to grip the rope. Sanskar frowned. Shouldn't she use a rope ladder for rapping rather than sliding down a single rope with no harness tied to her waist?

At the end of the day, she was still too young. What if she loses her balance? What if that rope whips against a tree, hurting her in the process?

"Wait a minute, Raichand. Let me fix the ladder. I don't want you to hurt yourself." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry sir, we have someone to save and the time is short. Save your concern for someone who actually need it. I prefer travel light, without any extra burden." there came her instant curt response. "Now if you please excuse me."

Saying this she almost pushed him aside, grabbed the thick nylon cord and let herself gliding down on the mercy of a pair of heat gloves and law of gravity.

And boy what a landing that was! Her slender yet flexible body was nothing less than a bowstring, twirled and landed on the water in her graceful acrobatic move, splaying tiny sprinkles of water around shallow surface. He couldn't but forget to breathe for a fraction of second.

What the hell! He was not supposed to ogle at his mannerless, arrogant subordinate, who had just made a mockery of his care and innate goodness.

He was supposed to lead, to rescue Mrs Maya Demuto as early as possible. Her husband Armand Demuto, the wealthiest diamond merchant of the country was influential enough to pull strings in the local politics and had the capability to create a nationwide hullabaloo if his midas touch was to be withdrawn from several health and social welfare projects.

Money talks. It was as simple as that. A couple of lump sum donations at right places, and he was dancing all over their heads.

But that glitzy show of cash garnered some unwanted audience as well. Demuto's recent venture on Coltan mining was all over the business magazines, and his business cum honeymoon trip to the Itombwe reserve forest hadn't been a secret either.

Two days back he left to survey a Coltan ore not too far from their camping site, leaving his wife behind and a bunch of Hutu militias had abducted her.Unfortunately those armed guards had not been enough to stop them.

Their demand was simple indeed; 5 million US dollars and release of their mischievous buddies rotting inside the national confinement. In exchange, Mrs Demuto's freedom would be 'a generous gift' from their side.

But along came the death threat and Mr Armand Demuto went berserk. Honestly, he could not blamed for his reaction. Those rebels had fled from Rwanda years ago* after killing lots of Tutsi people in a massive genocide. Since they had been keeping their reputation intact, leaving the government and military on their toes. Demuto promptly decoded the root cause of his own problem, and that was the money he lend to the government for several projects.

"Kitu chochote kinachotokea kwa Maya, tu kusahau kuhusu fedha yangu." (Anything happens to Maya, you people have to forget about my money.)

Love is a strange phenomenon indeed. Once this malignant ardour managed to step in, along came insanity.

They would be hysteric. They would be euphoric. Dumb would be their middle name, both in literal and metaphorical sense.

All these would change into hostility and rancour, with separation gatecrashing the party.

No one knew it better than Swara. Perhaps for this reason she was more serious than the others. At least she believed she was.

On the other hand, that chauvinistic male named Sanskar seemed to compensate that tad bit of lacking with his 13 years of expertise.

The commandos spread in several groups of four or five. Sanskar led his group from the north. The reconnaissance team had roughly guessed the presence of their enemy camp, yet an aerial view was of little use to plan the attack.

As they advanced more towards the hill, from where the smoke from the enemy camp was travelling up in the air, the groups were scattered in almost circular formation.

After half an hour or so burning smell of firewood and meat filled Sanskar's olfactory senses. A sign was shown, soon foliage of montane forest become their curtain of the moment.

Sanskar switched on the radio and mouthed in a hushed tone, "Breaker 1-9. Shergill speaking. All the units within range please report."(I'd like to make a transmission. Shergill speaking. All the units within range please report.)

"Khurana reporting, Sir. Read you loud and clear." Squadron leader Aman Khurana was the first to response.

"Target located. What's your 20?" (Target located. What's your location?) Whereabouts were exchanged following by the query of the vigilante group leader was keeping an eye on the movements of the guards from a distance.

"Over and out."

Once all units had contacted with one another, his focus solely shifted to the plan ahead.

==========================

Runners, raiders and rescuers.

Each team were advancing towards separate directions. Captain Johan Abdellah, a tall stout man in his mid twenties was in charge of the runners, credit goes to his gold medals in 400 metres and 800 metres in Congolese armed forces sports events. Moreover, Itombwe was his second home. His mom was an indigenous woman, born in the clan of Bambuti Pygmies, whisked by a plant superintendent of a casserite mining company when they were young.

Raiders were being led by Sanskar. They advanced in silence, creeping through the wilderness. Soggy shrubbery, bamboo vines, oil trees of rarest species obscured their already camouflaged figurines clad in army green and olive drab uniforms. Last night's rain was a blessing in disguise. Soon they all turned into moving clay effigies from the factory of mother earth.

Swara groaned as she crouched in her usual feline motion. Once again she was on the band of rescuers, led by Squadron leader Sagar Shrivastav, a man in his late twenties. That sexist Wing Commander didn't find her capable enough for active combat zone.

Prejudiced much, wasn't he?

She could curse him as much as she want, yet at the end of the day she had to succumb to the infamous quote, 'Boss is always right', which was unofficial military tagline.

Though she had to admit, Mr Sanskar Shergill was truly a spectacular sight to behold.

His smooth, effortless yet agile gait reminded her of black jaguar, a beautiful animal with dark printed skin. He slithered through the forest hiding himself from unwanted bunch, eyes oscillating like a cctv camera. A Glock 26 9×19 semiautomatic pistol was inserted in his holster, whereas an IWI Tavor CTAR-21 rifle was the one he held with two arms.

Interesting choice.

He was his weapon personified. He loved compact, he was compact. His verbal assault was controlled like the semiautomatic part of CTAR -21, effective enough to rile his chosen target with perfection.

On the contrary his imaginations matched the automatic part intended for brush firing, ran amok and faster than it should be.

A howl of Bush top Gorilla tore her train of thoughts. Then a break followed by two brief growls.

His muscles became taut for a while. Morse code had been given. Sanskar showed a thumb.

"Hurry up guys."Sagar ushered his groupies towards opposite direction.

Shoot! She had already fallen few feet behind her team. She could imagine a smug grin."Heard you had been late, Raichand."

What the hell had happened to her? Had Swara Harold Raichand almost succumbed to fangirling for the first time in her life, that too over a crazy, chauvinistic, full of himself man like Sanskar Shergill?

Hell no!

She was just appreciating his good qualities. No harm in stating the truth, right? Consoling herself she sprinted like a bunny on the grass, to cover up the lost distance.

****************************

Shema added more pieces of dried branches, as the stew was on the verge of touching its boiling point.

Good job, chef Shema. He mentally patted his back. As always he had prepared another good meal for his buddies.

Wait a minute.

"Do you hear that, Gahigi? Someone's there." his ears perked up as approaching sound of footsteps caught his attention.

"Not only hear, I can see them too. Bloody swines!" Outrage was what Gahigi feeling at the moment. He got up abruptly from his semi recumbent position.

"Buhoro buhoro."(Slowly slowly) Shema seemed as cool as cucumber. "Don't shout. We have to trap those mokumbi**."

BOOM!

Splash!

The man in black vest and khaki trousers fumed. "Son of the b****! They shot at the stew pot!"

"I won't spare them, Gahigi!" Shema yelled at the top of his lungs. "Kamanutsi! Fiston! Rugira! Follow them." He was already running towards the source of the gunshots. Soon couple of miscreants were found to follow his tracks.

After fifteen minutes of running Captain Johan paused. "Spread the word, Honore."
Right on cue sergeant Eugene Honore gave vocal proxy of one of the largest living ape species.

"Coast clear." Sanskar turned to his federates, with his characteristic mischievous tug on the corner of his lips.

****************************

Francois Byiringiro, a man in his mid forties was seen cursing the world, to be specific that miser diamond merchant and those military dogs.

He possessed the physiques of a typical Hutu male. Robust, broader body frame, wide jaw, big nose and low pitched voice. Whereas height was never a strong forte for them. In his case lack of patience was added to the mix.

Where were the others?

He didn't have to speculate for long. Series of gunshots crashed his brief thought process. Without any warning another source of trouble was creating ruckus inside the cave where they had been staying for last few months. The cave passed through a fairly large mountain like a tunnel.

All hell broke loose.

And this hell was what they wished for.

Sanskar's CTAR-21 fired in a rampant mode as he advanced deeper in the cave. Morse sight on his gun sat idle, as he hardly needed it for accuracy. Being a precise sharp shooter was another dimension of his multifaceted personality, an asset discovered during his commando training days.

He shot to hurt, he shot to save his team members. He used those shadowy corners as shield for himself or a window for plotting further phase of ambush.

And finally he saw him, that middle aged leader of the rebels, followed by a lanky young Pygmy boy, resembling a skeleton popped out from a closet. The former had sadism etched all over his face, whereas the latter appeared to be a mindless shadow.

The shootout had turned more gruesome with passage of time. Sickening odour of blood and gunpowder filled the air. There was dust flying throughout the cave. Most of the insurgents were lying on the ground.

"Hey! Stop right there!" Sanskar dashed behind Francois as he took u-turn to flee. He leaped past the wounded lying on the ground. Series of bullets was aimed at him with an intent to kill, which he dodged as he propelled, wending in a zigzag course.

His eyes sparkled in triumph as the big head of their opponent collapsed on the ground. Red warm fluid spurted off his left thigh, where multiple lead pellets had created generous amount of perforation. His matchstick minion was sandwiched between him and the damp soil, as his boss had grabbed his shoulder on the course of his downfall.

"Drop your gun, Francois. The game is over." Sanskar held the fire, even if his enemy had been cornered, laid at his feet.

Maniac laugh echoed on the walls of the caves. The cold blooded mass murderer grabbed a pistol lying beside him in a flash movement of his hand. Sanskar ducked in response and shot almost at the same time.

But he got delayed for a fraction of second.

No, Sanskar Shergill remained unscathed, fit, hale and hearty. Instead Francois Byiringiro had emptied the magazine on the temple of his Pygmy shadow.

"Better luck next time, suckers!" He flashed his yellow teeth in arrogance before succumbing into darkness.

Suddenly everyone went silent, a heavy quietude that could be sensed only after a massive lightning flashing in the sky. Was this serenity a sign of impending thunder?

"There's a bad news, sir. We found some hostages. But..." Sagar came running with his band of rescuers from the opposite side after few minutes or so. "We searched every inch of the cave and the tunnels. But there's no sign of Maya Demuto."

******************************************

"Have you checked well, Shrivastav?" This was the eleventh time Sanskar had posed the same query since he had joined the rescuers in their searching mission though he was aware of Sagar's capability.

"Sir, I think we should check that tunnel once again." It was Swara who had intervened. She was on her way already, not waiting for approval or further command.

Sagar was frustrated to the core. "But there was no one, Raichand!" If that lady wasn't found here they would have to scan entire forest. In that case he wouldn't prefer a woman in her fancy role playing game, wasting their precious moments.

" Hello! Someone there? Mrs Demuto? Maya?" She was screaming her lungs out.

Sagar rolled his eyes again, "See, you got me a liability, Sir."

"I think your concentration is placed on the wrong woman, Sagar." Sanskar didn't get why he felt like punching Sagar at that moment. It was not like he had high thoughts about her. Yet those words coming from other's mouth had irked him.

"Help!" A broken female voice was heard to travel from a long distance.

Then occurred Swara's astounded holler, almost concurrently. "Oh my God! She's there!"

The men exchanged their look, and they darted inside.

"Ouch!"

"Damn you, kid!"

Haughtiness got the best of her as she pushed Sanskar out of her way. "I wasn't being the raging bull here, Sir."

"Manners, Raichand!"

Red hot chili peppers. Huh! Swara was smart enough to keep that name to herself. Instead she ignored the words of 'raging bull' and guided him to the area where the tunnel had ended.

Or better to say, where it had opened to the exterior.

There lied vast grass covered plain land with rocks and wild flora scattered all over the space.

Except that smooth terrain had a crack, a narrow ledge formed between two adjacent cliffs.

"Where is she, Raichand?" Sanskar could guess from where Maya had been repeatedly screaming for attention. But he didn't wish his ears to be right this time.

Alas,no one bothered to correct him.

Now it made sense. Francois, that wicked oldie had played his trump card by slaying his little associate at the last minute.

'Cause the shape of that ledge mimicked an hourglass, and its slender midriff was adamant about not letting someone to pass through. To make matters worse, the victim somehow had been landed on the rock bottom of the fault ridge, that was quite far from the top.

"That sleazy dog knew very well that we can't get past this. It's too safe to even fall for us!" Sagar muttered with contempt, followed by other explicit terms that shouldn't be uttered. "Shit! I forgot we've a lady here. Now I can't even swear."

"Your freedom of speech is still intact, Sir." Swara retorted without wasting a moment. God baked her as a tough salted cookie, coated with artificial sweetener. "You're watching your co workers over here, not any lady."

"Thanks for the reminder, Shrivastav. How could I forget about that?"

In few quick steps Sanskar turned up in front of one and only Swara Harold Raichand, who was always prepared for verbal duel in response to each and every derogatory remark.

She so reminded him of his earlier days!

Full of arrogance, misplaced taunts, eager to brawl, unwilling to let go. Passage of time had shed a considerable amount of those traits in him, carving him into more composed person.

"Easy, lady! And I meant that as an accolade." He patted her shoulder and smiled. "Anyways, you see we've got a situation here. I believe I can rely on none but you to handle this. So, are you up for the game, Firefly?"

The reply was affirmative of course.

Garuds weren't supposed to have excuse. Their shoulders were trained to bear the weight of that maroon beret.

*******************************************
*The timeline was kept vague for the sake of the story
**Mokumbi: local name for Gambian pouched rats
*** Demuto was speaking in Swahili, and the Hutu rebel in Rwandan language.

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A/N: All my Indian friends, this is a treat from my side on the happy eve of the independence day of India.

I hope gradually you'll accept this slightly unconventional story.