Natural Selection (A Free Spider Shepherd short story) Read Online Free
Author: Stephen Leather
either commit to it wholeheartedly or get the hell out of the way of the guys who do.’
There was a long silence. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Enough said, it’s up to you. Now we’re heading out of the jungle tomorrow, but we’re calling at a Mayan village on the way. We’ve been doing hearts and minds work with them for years now - medicine and hygiene, improvements to their agriculture, and simple construction projects like latrines or a clean water supply - but we’re careful about what else we give them. We don’t give the Maya chainsaws because they can already fell enough trees with axes. They’re the only tribe I’ve ever seen that don’t use nets for fishing, but we don’t supply them either because they’re catching enough fish for their needs with longlines, and if we gave them gill nets they might overfish the river. We’re also teaching the older children basic medicine, so that there will be a legacy of continuing care when we’ve gone, just like in Malaya, Borneo, Oman and a score of other regions where we’ve operated over the years. In return for our help, they give us Intelligence. They fish the rivers and hunt in the forest. They know if there are strangers - soldiers or drug-traffickers - coming across the border, so the Maya are our eyes and ears in this area.’
The following morning they followed Pilgrim through deep jungle and emerged on a well-worn path towards the Mayan village. Heliconias, flame trees and bougainvillea lined the track and they glimpsed brief slashes of even more electric colour - crimson, turquoise, violet and gold - as toucans, macaws and countless other birds flitted through the forest canopy a hundred feet above them. Clouds of butterflies danced in the columns of sunlight in the clearings and open areas.
As they walked on towards the village, the jungle gave way to patches of cleared land, planted with maize and plantain bananas. The air was drenched with scents, the musty tang of the rainforest mingling with perfume from the wild flowers covering the fallow land and the blossom of the groves of orange, lime and lemon trees at the side of the track. They came around a bend and saw huts scattered along the bank of a river. A fish eagle swooped down on the water, then struggled back into the sky with a fish impaled on its talons. There was a flash of vivid colour as a coral snake swam across the surface and disappeared back into the jungle. Fisherman stood motionless on the riverbank, fishing with long lines, while a little way downstream a group of women were washing clothes. A few shouts were exchanged as they caught sight of the SAS men and a group of children came running to see the cause of the commotion. They greeted the squadron with shy smiles and followed them as they walked in to the village.
Most of the Mayan dwellings were dirt-floored, small and poor looking, little more than shacks with walls of loosely woven sticks and a palm-thatch, but two were larger, with sugar-cane walls and attap thatched roofs, and the largest house of all was built on stilts. Pilgrim pointed to it. ‘You can always spot the police post in these villages,’ he said. ‘The police are all Caribs - coastal-dwellers - and they don’t like the heat and humidity of the jungle, so they always build their posts on stilts in the hope of getting a little extra cooling breeze.’
Geordie glanced around him. ‘Police? I can’t imagine there’s much of a crime wave round here.’
‘There isn’t, and what crime there is, the Maya usually sort out for themselves under their own traditional laws,’ said Pilgrim. ‘Last time I was here, the village elders were holding a court in the hut of the alcalde - the mayor - about a knife fight between two women. They couldn’t establish which one of them had started the fight, so they found them both guilty. Mayan law dictated that the women should be tied to a tree on the outskirts of the village and left overnight as a
There was a long silence. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Enough said, it’s up to you. Now we’re heading out of the jungle tomorrow, but we’re calling at a Mayan village on the way. We’ve been doing hearts and minds work with them for years now - medicine and hygiene, improvements to their agriculture, and simple construction projects like latrines or a clean water supply - but we’re careful about what else we give them. We don’t give the Maya chainsaws because they can already fell enough trees with axes. They’re the only tribe I’ve ever seen that don’t use nets for fishing, but we don’t supply them either because they’re catching enough fish for their needs with longlines, and if we gave them gill nets they might overfish the river. We’re also teaching the older children basic medicine, so that there will be a legacy of continuing care when we’ve gone, just like in Malaya, Borneo, Oman and a score of other regions where we’ve operated over the years. In return for our help, they give us Intelligence. They fish the rivers and hunt in the forest. They know if there are strangers - soldiers or drug-traffickers - coming across the border, so the Maya are our eyes and ears in this area.’
The following morning they followed Pilgrim through deep jungle and emerged on a well-worn path towards the Mayan village. Heliconias, flame trees and bougainvillea lined the track and they glimpsed brief slashes of even more electric colour - crimson, turquoise, violet and gold - as toucans, macaws and countless other birds flitted through the forest canopy a hundred feet above them. Clouds of butterflies danced in the columns of sunlight in the clearings and open areas.
As they walked on towards the village, the jungle gave way to patches of cleared land, planted with maize and plantain bananas. The air was drenched with scents, the musty tang of the rainforest mingling with perfume from the wild flowers covering the fallow land and the blossom of the groves of orange, lime and lemon trees at the side of the track. They came around a bend and saw huts scattered along the bank of a river. A fish eagle swooped down on the water, then struggled back into the sky with a fish impaled on its talons. There was a flash of vivid colour as a coral snake swam across the surface and disappeared back into the jungle. Fisherman stood motionless on the riverbank, fishing with long lines, while a little way downstream a group of women were washing clothes. A few shouts were exchanged as they caught sight of the SAS men and a group of children came running to see the cause of the commotion. They greeted the squadron with shy smiles and followed them as they walked in to the village.
Most of the Mayan dwellings were dirt-floored, small and poor looking, little more than shacks with walls of loosely woven sticks and a palm-thatch, but two were larger, with sugar-cane walls and attap thatched roofs, and the largest house of all was built on stilts. Pilgrim pointed to it. ‘You can always spot the police post in these villages,’ he said. ‘The police are all Caribs - coastal-dwellers - and they don’t like the heat and humidity of the jungle, so they always build their posts on stilts in the hope of getting a little extra cooling breeze.’
Geordie glanced around him. ‘Police? I can’t imagine there’s much of a crime wave round here.’
‘There isn’t, and what crime there is, the Maya usually sort out for themselves under their own traditional laws,’ said Pilgrim. ‘Last time I was here, the village elders were holding a court in the hut of the alcalde - the mayor - about a knife fight between two women. They couldn’t establish which one of them had started the fight, so they found them both guilty. Mayan law dictated that the women should be tied to a tree on the outskirts of the village and left overnight as a
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