Read Natural Selection (A Free Spider Shepherd short story) for Free Online Page B

large infantry groups can’t.’
    He gave them a moment to let that sink in. ‘One other thing: Belize, and the Toledo District in particular, is now the principal route for Colombian cocaine being shipped to the US. They bring it over the border from Guatemala, while the military there pocket plenty in bribes to look the other way, and send it on into Mexico or ship it out to the cays off the coast - there’s hundreds of them and many are unpopulated - either in light aircraft, which use the dirt roads as air-strips, or fast-boats. The traffickers are more heavily armed than the Belizean armed forces and probably better in a fight, and they’re inclined to shoot first and worry afterwards. They’re ruthless killers, but the good news is that no-one gives a shit about the drug-traffickers and while there’ll be hell to pay if we shoot it out with a platoon of the Guatemalan Army, there won’t be an international outcry at the news that a few members of some Colombian coke baron’s private army have been wiped out.  So if we come across them, it’s open season as far as I’m concerned. Okay, that’s it. Let’s get to work.’
    The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, they were airborne again. As usual, Jimbo and Geordie had closed their eyes as soon as the rotors had begun to turn, and were cat-napping, while Liam was gazing out of the helicopter’s Plexiglas window. Shepherd joined Pilgrim near the open doorway. The SAS veteran was watchful and alert, his gaze raking the terrain as the Puma flew on to the south, as if every building or tree concealed a potential threat.
    Shepherd stared out at the landscape unfolding below them as the Puma tracked the course of a broad, mud-stained river. Beyond the last of the sprawling, rust-coloured shanty-towns on the outskirts of Belize City, long stretches of mangrove swamps gave way to scrub bush and then secondary jungle. As they skimmed over the unbroken canopy of the rainforest, Shepherd saw a dark mountain range looming ahead of them. A few ancient, twisted oak trees maintained a precarious hold on the lower slopes of the summit ridge, but above them, a pine forest stood tall against the sky. It was a bizarre transition, as if they’d suddenly been transported from the rainforest to the Canadian Rockies. As they skimmed over the ridge, the downwash from the rotors stirred up a dust-storm of pine needles and thrashed the wildflowers studding the sandy soil. 
    ‘I’ve not seen this before,’ Shepherd said. ‘It’s been dark when we’ve flown in and out. It’s strange isn’t it?’
    Pilgrim nodded. ‘Mountain Pine Ridge,’ he said. ‘Weird place to find a pine forest. And see that?’ He pointed ahead to where the river they were tracking suddenly disappeared from view.  As the Puma shot over the edge, Shepherd found himself looking down at a waterfall dropping sheer for five hundred meters. Indifferent to the clatter of the Puma’s rotors, king vultures and orange-breasted falcons were spiralling on the thermals rising up the granite rock-face. The waterfall seemed to bridge two different worlds. The mountains at the head were clad in the pine forest; the bottom of the falls, lost in a mist of spray, was back in dense tropical jungle.
    ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Shepherd.
    ‘Dangerous places often are,’ said Pilgrim.
    A few minutes later,  the Puma cleared the last ridge of the mountains and Shepherd saw another, even stranger change in the landscape. ‘Goodbye Rockies,’ Pilgrim said, ‘Hello Great Plains.’ 
    The plain stretching away from the foot of the mountains was classic farming country, flat arable land and pasture, with metalled roads bisecting the massive fields at right angles.
    ‘What the hell?’ Shepherd said.
    Pilgrim smiled. ‘The Mennonites. They’ve been here since the late 1950’s and they’ve turned the jungle into a close replica of Kansas.’
    ‘What’s a Mennonite? It sounds like some sort of